Changed For Good
by The Patriette
Summary: After the Battle of Metropolis, Clark and Lois know their lives have been changed forever. His secret, her past, and the constant danger of discovery guarantee their future together will be far from easy, but neither are willing to give up on their relationship, no matter the coming challenges. Prequel to "The Girl of Two Worlds."
1. Sorrows In Battaltions

**Hey everybody! Here goes the first chapter of _Changed For Good_, the prequel of _The Girl of Two Worlds. _Guess I'd better give the Authoress' Usual Obligatory Disclaimer & Notes:  
**

**1) I obviously do not own Superman or Lois Lane. ****2) As in TGoTW, I'm envisioning Henry Cavill and Amy Adams in the roles. ****3) I haven't read any Superman comics, so pray excuse any violations of the canon! 4) I'm not going to venture (much) into _Batman vs. Superman/Man of Steel 2_ territory. **

**Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

"_When sorrows come, they come not in single spies, but in battalions."_

_-Shakespeare, "Hamlet"_

The fire radiating from Zod's eyes blasted into the wall, slicing through stone and moving closer to living flesh. A young, pretty woman whose features reminded Clark of his own mother pressed herself against the wall and shielded two screaming children with her body. She was weeping.

"Stop!" Clark shouted, trying with all his might to turn Zod's head away. "Don't do this!"

Zod ignored him and the lasers only grew more intense. Clark gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

_God, I don't want to do it!_

He gave his locked arms and upper body a hard sideways twist. Zod's neck snapped loudly; he went limp and the fire died in his unseeing eyes.

As soon as the lasers disappeared and her path was clear, the young woman snatched up the two children and ran as fast as she could drag them. She probably didn't care to wait and see if the other Kryptonian was friendly or not. Clark hardly blamed her. He sank to his knees, staring at the monster that had been his sole surviving countryman.

A memory flashed through his reeling mind. His father-Jonathan, not Jor-El-stood in the yard of the Kansas farm house. Clark was with his mother on the porch, his head pressed against her stomach, watching while Dad aimed the shotgun at the rabies-infected dog staggering towards the henhouse.

The gun thundered. The dog collapsed. But it had been the family dog. Marty, old Hank's dam. Clark, only seven at the time, sobbed like his heart was broken. Dad came back on the porch and laid a hand on Clark's head.

"It had to be done," he'd soothed. "I know it hurts, Son . . . but I had no other choice."

_I had no other choice._

A raw, groaning cry forced its way up Clark's throat and throbbed off the high marble walls of the station. He curled his body forward and covered his face with his hands.

He was filled with . . . what was it? Shame. Self-loathing. He had killed a man-a murderer, true, and a menace who would've reduced Earth to a pile of bloody ashes-but still, another Kryptonian.

But if he _hadn't_ done it, that young human family would've died before his eyes.

He hated Zod for forcing him into a corner.

Quick, light footsteps pitter-pattered down the stairs a few yards away from him. He braced himself to face the intruder-but nothing could prepare him for the sight of Lois Lane.

She was still in the army-green jumpsuit, her ginger hair slipping loose from her ponytail; her face was smudged with dirt, blood, and tears, and he could see she was indescribably weary. But her blue eyes held neither horror nor revulsion at what she must've seen a few moments before-only loving sympathy.

At any other time, a boyish determination to be the tough guy would've prevailed, but he was tired-bone-tired-and overcome with emotions he had never felt before. He felt a tear run down his cheek and made no move to wipe it away or hide it.

Lois hurried forward, holding out her small slender hands; quickly but gently, she pressed his head against her stomach, just as his mother had done years before.

"Shh, it's all right . . . it's all right . . ."

He wrapped both arms as tightly as he dared around her waist and squeezed his eyes shut. She ran her fingers through his curls, saying nothing, merely letting him hold onto her like she was the last sure anchor in a world gone mad.

"I didn't know what else to do," he whispered. "I _had_ to do it."

"Of course you did, no one would ever doubt it," she said, her voice hoarse from dust, tears, and exhaustion. "There was nothing else you _could_ do."

He drew back from her with a shuddering breath and looked again at Zod's body. Lois tilted his head away from it, kneeling down to eye-level with him and forcing him to look at her. She suddenly looked fierce.

"I _refuse_ to let you feel guilty. Do you hear me? People have died but thousands-thousands!-have been saved. I owe you my life and so do countless others. I will not let you eat your heart out over this!"

She still believed in him, supported him, trusted he wasn't some demon from hell. He stared at her, hardly able to comprehend it after all that had happened. Lois sniffed, wiped her eyes, took his hand and stood. Clark hesitated a moment, then followed her out of the deathly chamber.

They emerged in the pale, late afternoon sun to find the city stirring from its frightened stupor. Clark saw people crawling out from underneath cars that hadn't been crumpled by the world engine; he saw them emerge from behind piles of rubble, some of them bleeding, others crying, still more helping their neighbors get back on their feet.

Slowly, they began to take notice of the tall man in steel blue, with the shimmering red cape billowing behind him in the slight breeze. He looked at the pale, weary faces and saw little fear now when they made eye contact with him. It was as if they'd finally recognized him as the white knight in this battle, no matter the death and destruction his kind had caused. He had been the one who fought for _them_. And in spite of the grief that he knew would only grow as the death toll climbed, in spite of the grim reality of rebuilding whole sections of Metropolis from the ground up, they were grateful.

"Look at them," Lois whispered. "Now you ought to know why you were sent here."

Her words gave him a jolt, almost like a surge of electricity through his veins that roused him from his lethargy. He tore his eyes from the moving sight and down at her. For a moment she met his gaze, then withdrew it with a slight flush creeping into her dirty cheeks.

* * *

Lois parted from Clark to help a woman with a baby stumbling out of a pile of rubble. She was then called to assist a portly, middle-aged gentleman and his even heavier lady companion, both of them staggering from a store whose windows had been completely blown out.

People all around her were offering help to others, while Clark-Kal-El, she reminded herself -lifted crumpled cars and enormous pieces of concrete that trapped screaming, crying captives. Eventually, the ambulances and fire trucks made their way to this street and Lois found herself supporting weak-kneed casualties into the waiting arms of the paramedics.

She was exhausted, but still too shaken to do anything but work as hard as she could. The memory of Colonel Hardy and Dr. Hamilton disappearing into the yawning Phantom Zone with Zod's cronies haunted her. She was sure they were dead, sucked into airless space. Her only comfort was that Faora-_that witch_, she thought bitterly-was dead as well.

Lois Lane was in no mood to show compassion towards any enemy of Clark Kent's. They deserved everything they got, plus some.

How she was going to get back to her apartment-if her apartment even _existed_ anymore-was the first question in her mind. Then, with swift worry, her thoughts flew to her friends . . . Perry, Jenny, Lombard. She'd left them high and dry when they'd seen Zod and Clark hurtle back to Earth with the fiery remains of a smashed satellite.

"Where the hell are you going?" Perry had shouted after her when she started running.

"I've got to help him!" Lois shouted back without stopping.

"You'll get yourself killed, Lois, come back here!" Lombard cried.

Lois ignored him, leaping and stumbling over debris with more energy than she knew she had left in her. The whole way she thought of nothing but Clark-if the free-fall from space had hurt him-if Zod was dead yet-if Clark could even kill him.

Now the battle was over and darkness started to fall over the city. Lois ran a hand through her filthy hair and glanced around. She couldn't see Clark, but she could hear him. His voice was commanding and calm. He didn't sound at all like the vulnerable boy he'd been in the subway station, frightened by what he now knew he could do and needing someone to come and rescue him from himself.

Lois made her way, slowly, towards his voice. Eery rescue lights were going up. Sirens screamed incessantly, accompanied by shouts, screams, sobbing. She shuddered. This was truly the stuff of nightmares.

"Miss Lane?" she heard Kal-El call to her. Kal-El, not Clark, because Clark never talked with such stern authority; he was always more gentle and soft-spoken. She looked up, saw him coming towards her with long, quick strides. His red cape billowed in the smoky, dusty breeze.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. "I thought you'd left, I couldn't find you after we split . . ."

Now _that_ was definitely Clark. Lois shook her head. "I just had to sit down and rest a minute. I-I need to get home or to the _Planet _office and don't know how to get there-"

"I'll take you," he said.

Lois frowned. "You don't know where either of them are."

Clark lifted an eyebrow. "You don't think I could figure it out pretty easy?"

Before she could reply, he turned back to the men who he'd just helped lift a fallen streetlight blocking the road. He said a few urgent words to them; they nodded, understanding, and he returned to her.

"Come on," he said, and without warning scooped her up in his arms. Lois swallowed back a gasp. Holding her tight, he jumped and sailed up towards the darkening sky, tinged with orange from numerous fires throughout Metropolis.

This was the first time he'd carried her in flight without danger being involved. It was a completely different thing from that moment this afternoon when he'd saved her from the burning escape pod, and then again from her fall off the C-17.

"You want to go to your apartment, or the _Daily Planet_?" he asked.

"Home."

"Give me a general direction?"

"West End. The street is Maple, though, in case you can read street signs up here."

A very slight smile softened his chiseled face, now covered, she saw, in dust and grime. "I can read them-_and_ I see the street. Looks like everything's intact."

Lois breathed a sigh of relief. "When I get home I've got to call my mom-if any of the phones work, of course-and let her know I'm all right."

"Where does she live?"

"Here in Metropolis, at the top of the Freeman Tower." Lois glanced over his shoulder, saw the building still standing. "But she's not in town right now . . . she's in Paris."

Clark drew his eyes from the city below to her. "While you're at it, would it be too much to ask if . . . well . . ."

"What?" she prodded softly.

"If you'd call my mom and let her know we're both safe, too?"

_Martha would even care if I'm safe? _she thought, puzzled. Aloud she said, "Of course I'll call her. I just need you to give me her number. No, no, Clark-take me around the back, to the fire escape, so no one sees you."

He obeyed, landing at the top of the rickety metal stairs behind her apartment building, and set her on her feet. Lois felt light-headed-probably from sheer exhaustion-and clenched his hand until she regained her balance.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You have something with you to take down Mom's number?" he asked.

"Oh sure, what writer leaves home without paper and pen?" Actually, she'd snagged the tiny notepad at Edwards Air Force Base just before she got into the C-17 with Hardy and the Kryptonian baby shuttle. She'd already made notes in it for a future article about her adventures during the flight back to Metropolis. Now she pulled it from her jumpsuit pocket and scribbled in the number he gave her.

"Take this one down, too," he whispered. She obeyed, looked up at him questioningly when he was finished. He smiled, shrugged. "That one's mine."

Lois almost dropped the notepad. He was giving her his number? Not only that, but . . . "Wait, _you_ have a phone?"

"What do you mean, 'do _I_ have a phone?' I'm no backwards country bumpkin."

She had to laugh at that, and when she did, a brilliant smile flashed across his face. He looked so different when he did that, far less like a stern alien lord and more like a regular person. She had never heard him laugh, though, and found herself wondering what that might sound like.

"Well here, take my number too," she said, quickly writing it down and handing the bit of paper to him.

"Thanks," he said, then grew serious again. "I only use the phone for emergencies, though. So should you, at least for a while. I have a feeling we'll both be under some scrutiny for a while. Too many people saw us together. If you start exchanging phone calls with some guy with a Kansas area code-"

"I understand, believe me," Lois said. "I'm a reporter. I know how to avoid incriminating situations."

"Except where your friendship with 'Joe of Ellesmere Island' is concerned, of course."

His sense of humor was delightful; why hadn't he ever talked like this before? She responded as archly as she could, considering her exhaustion.

"Well, I'll have you know, _that_ had nothing to do with being careless. I told Woodburn about 'Joe' _before _I knew who 'Joe' really was. I thought he was going to publish my article. He was irate when I decided not to write the story or give it to him. That's why he threw me under the bus."

"And unwittingly gave Zod a second target." Clark tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I didn't know he was tracking you until Faora demanded to have you."

Lois shivered. "Yeah, that was a little scary . . ."

"I don't know what I would've done if they'd killed you."

Lois swallowed hard. "I don't know what I would've done if they'd killed _you_."

Her own level of emotion startled her. Not since her childhood, when her father moved out, had she felt such an overwhelming desperation to keep someone close by. She reached forward and grabbed his hand.

"Look," she whispered, "you can't leave me here on this fire escape and not ever come back, not after what we've been through. Please don't do that to me."

He frowned. "Well, that escalated quickly. All I said was that we shouldn't exchange phone calls. How did that turn into 'Clark forgets about Lois the minute he leaves the fire escape?' "

Lois let out a shaky, relieved laugh. "Okay . . ."

"Besides, you think I'd forget about you after that kiss?"

She blushed. He smiled again-still no laugh-and glanced up at the night sky.

"I'd better go," he said. "It'll be a hard, late night . . . they'll need me."

"All right," she murmured. "Take care of yourself. Keep your distance from me if you think it would be smarter. I won't be mad at you, I promise. I'll probably be trying to keep the snoops out of my hair, too."

He nodded. "I've got to help clean up the mess my people made, though, so you'll see me around."

"That's not the same," she whispered. "Promise me you _will_ come see me-eventually."

His smile turned gentle. That in itself would've been promise enough, but then he leaned forward and kissed her-not like he'd done a few hours ago, but quickly, softly. When he drew back, he looked her in the eye.

"That's your promise," he said. "I'll be back-and I won't forget about you."

Lois nodded, unable to say a word. She watched him fly away, then staggered into the building and crept along its corridors. Once she'd shut her own door behind her, she pressed her back against it.

She'd started her morning simply worried for Clark Kent, almost positive he was the Kal-El this General Zod was looking for. Less than an hour later she was in FBI custody. By noon she was on Zod's ship, in outer space, helplessly watching Clark vomit blood. She'd communicated with the hologram of a Kryptonian nobleman (a dead one, no less), nearly crashed in a Kansas cornfield, learned how to operate an alien baby carrier, witnessed the devastation of her home city, and tumbled out the back of an airborne C-17. And to top it all off, she'd fallen in love with an alien.

_ Good grief._

Lois couldn't think of anything else to do to relieve the irresistible wave of emotion. For the first time since Heaven knew when, she sank to the floor, folded her arms on her bent knees, and cried.


	2. A Hero Comes Home

**I've emerged from a snow and sleet storm to give you...the second chapter! But Dear Readers, please don't fret that I won't update. I've got five chapters written so far but I'm trying to space out the updates, about 2 to 3 days between chapters. I don't want to post too many chapters too fast and then be all nervous about finishing the next one in time. It's like _Batman vs. Superman_-you've gotta give the creators enough time to get the darn thing right ;)**

**Hope any of you in the path of this latest polar vortex are staying warm!**

* * *

_Just wait, though wide he may roam_

_Always, a hero comes home _

_He goes where no one has gone _

_But always a hero comes home _

_-Idina Menzel, "A Hero Comes Home"_

"Anything in particular we should do with him, sir?" the morgue officer asked.

Clark, aching at the sight of dozens of cots in the huge, chilly room, looked where the man indicated. There lay his nemesis, still in the Kryptonian suit so like his own. Zod's skin was as grey as his suit and his eyes-thank God-were closed. It was strange to see him like that. Clark resisted the urge to shudder.

"We thought maybe you'd, uh, have some preference for burial or-or-"

"You mean like some burial _ritual_?" Clark shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea what they would've done on . . . on his world."

The officer looked at him helplessly. "Then you don't have any wishes about it?"

Clark wanted to say, "No, take him away and don't let me see him ever again"-but something checked him. What _would _be done with the Kryptonian's body if he didn't take it?

The answer came quickly: they'd probably give him to science. Zod was the only alien left on Earth besides himself. Everyone would want to know what exactly Earth's atmosphere did to a native of Krypton, how the two races were different, how they were the same. They might learn plenty from Zod's corpse about Clark's own make-up, and about his one weakness: Kryptonian atmospherics, ecology, matter.

Zod could betray him even in death.

Not only that, but the general had been a being of artificial genes, and those genes were decided upon, before he was born, by an oppressive government. If tyrants here on Earth tried to seize upon Krypton's bioengineering secrets, it could prove disastrous. And Jor-El had instructed him to warn the people of Earth against making the same mistakes as the people of Krypton . . .

"On second thought," Clark said, "I think I'll take him myself, if that's not against the rules."

The officer looked relieved. "Of course it isn't against the rules. You could easily say you're the closest-living relation, so it's more than all right."

A little while later, Clark flew high above Earth's curving orbit, resisting gravity's pull until he was well beyond the atmosphere. Halfway between Earth and the moon, he looked back.

Only yesterday morning he'd been aboard Zod's ship. He'd stood in his small, cramped cell, looking down at Earth through the hole he'd blasted in the wall with his fist. His father-the one he'd never known-stood beside him, his grey-bearded face grave and earnest.

_We wanted you to learn what it meant to be human first, so that one day when the time was right, you could be the bridge between two peoples . . . _

He then directed Clark's attention to the free-falling escape pod and immediately Clark saw Lois inside. Panic for her life filled him. He hadn't known until that moment how much she meant to him.

_You can save her, Kal. You can save all of them._

Jor-El's words had been a clear green-light to forsake Krypton and defy Zod. Earth was home. The humans he'd known all his life were more his flesh and blood than the Kryptonians who only wanted them dead. Clark was the bridge between two peoples, but he'd have to throw in his lot with those on one side of that bridge.

He now glanced down at the body held in his strong arms. For the moment he felt no hatred for Zod, only pity. The general had been the victim of his own lust for power and revenge. He'd wanted the Codex, had been determined to kill Clark for it. He wanted to get even with Jor-El, too, for embedding the code into Clark's cells.

So in a way, it was the Codex that had destroyed him. Clark doubted he'd have this strength if the code hadn't been ingrained in him, even when he added the effect of the Sun's rays on a child of Krypton to the equation. The Codex may have been the only thing that made him Zod's physical superior.

The secrets of Krypton, however, would remain concealed. The Codex was in Clark and, to a lesser degree, in Zod. If Clark ever had a child, its influence would continue in a new, half-human bloodline. But no one would ever study it. Not if he could help it.

Clark released the body in his arms. He didn't throw it away nor give it away reluctantly; it was just a smooth, natural movement. Zod would be consigned to the stars, to the God beyond the universe that Clark believed in as surely as he believed in his own, new purpose.

* * *

It had been three days since the battle and Clark sensed his strength starting to wane from sheer exhaustion.

The worst-hit areas were, of course, closest to where the world engine had hammered a crater into the ground. Buildings had collapsed all around it and only a few survivors were found. Recovering the bodies and cleaning up the area was now top prioriy. Since it was also the hardest area for the recovery crews and paramedics to get to, Clark had all but taken charge. The police officers and FEMA personnel he talked to didn't seem to resent that, either.

The second night, though, he felt like . . . a line from a character in a movie he'd seen years

ago came back to him . . . "like butter scraped over too much bread."

With a groan he lifted a twisted gridiron from the ruins of a fallen skyscraper long enough for an officer and a rescue dog to search for any survivors. When the officer emerged again with a mournful shake of his head, Clark let the heavy frame fall.

"Sir, maybe you should sit down a minute," the officer said with awkward concern.

It was odd to hear anyone call him "sir" and at first Clark looked around for someone more worthy of the title. When he realized the officer was talking to him, he sighed.

"Thanks, but I 'sat down a minute' an hour ago. Let's keep going."

"Half a moment!"

Clark turned, saw a man in a suit standing in the street below. There was a stodgy dorkiness about him that made Clark immediately think, _Politician's aide_. Smothering a flare of irritation, Clark made his way carefully down the rubble-mountain, the officer and German shepherd trailing close behind.

The man, accompanied by another tired police officer who'd escorted him here, held a clipboard under his arm; he extended a clean hand to Clark, who grasped it with a very dirty one.

"Nice to finally meet you, Superman," the fellow said.

Clark forced himself not to wince. _Of all the stupid, laughable names . . ._

"I'm Mayor Watson's chief of staff, Charlie Parr," the man went on. "Mr. Watson wanted me to tell you how grateful he is to you for saving the city from certain destruction. He'd tell you himself except that he's in the hospital nursing a broken leg."

Clark nodded, surprised and grateful, in turn, for the gesture.

"He's been kept up-to-date with the recovery efforts from the hospital," Parr went on, hesitant now. "He, uh, wanted me to tell you that you-uh-have gone above and beyond the call of duty and-well-out of concern-he respectfully requests-_respectfully_-that you take a break and rest yourself before returning-if you choose, that is-to help with the recovery."

Clark, whose attention had been diverted by the sight of an enormous backhoe rolling down the street, looked at Parr abruptly. "Wait, what?"

The poor aide looked nervous. "It's a _respectful _request. The mayor is concerned you might, well, wipe yourself out."

So even the mayor of this city cared. In spite of himself, Clark smiled. "Mr. Parr, if Mayor Watson won't think I'm avoiding my responsibility to Metropolis-"

"Oh no, no," Parr said quickly. "He doesn't think that _at all_. He's _genuinely_ concerned."

Clark thought a moment, glanced around. This street did look better after the two days of relentless labor. If they could afford a day without him, he could rest and return with renewed strength.

"Thank the mayor for me, and tell him I hope he'll be speedily released from the hospital," he said.

"Sure thing," Parr said, smiling like a very friendly dork.

Clark stepped away from him, remembering the humorously unfortunate effect in Smallville of taking off while standing too close to another person. It had knocked poor Pete Ross off his feet in the damaged IHOP and even made Faora-Ul stagger against the wall. Once at a distance, he clenched his hands at his sides, pushed hard against the ground with one foot, and shot into the sky.

If x-ray vision was his most unpleasant ability, flying had to be the most enjoyable one. He sailed high into the atmosphere for the second time in twenty-four hours, but this time it wasn't to perform any necessary ritual. He'd had a sneaky suspicion ever since the end of the battle that he was being watched closely. The government would be trying to find out where he lived and he was going to throw them off his trail.

He began to move faster-faster-faster-until he was amusing himself by keeping pace with a satellite that zipped through orbit at hundreds of miles per hour. Then down he went, back through the atmosphere that never singed his skin, until he was in the clouds over the Pacific.

For a short time he was over the Australian outback, then over Mount Everest. Europe passed in a blur of color before giving way to the icy Atlantic and the graves of countless ancient ships . . . Metropolis reappeared, broken but fighting to recover . . . Gotham, smaller and grittier than the more sophisticated Metropolis . . . and then smaller towns, the Appalachians, the great American plains . . .

_Kansas._

It was almost night but his keen vision made out little Smallville, the charred Main Street and the ruins still left to clean up. Clark's chest tightened with guilt; he should probably divide his time between Metropolis and his hometown. Tonight, however, he turned away from the town and headed for the wrecked farmhouse he could easily discern ten miles to the north.

To his surprise, he caught the flicker of an electric light in the kitchen. He descended quietly. An innate caution prevented him from calling out to his mother right away. The likelihood of a helpful neighbor being with her was high.

Two days ago there'd been no power. The hole in the roof was now covered with a blue tarp. Pieces of the old pickup truck, looking like the remains of an oversized, recycled Coke can, slumped in the front yard; somehow someone had taken it apart and removed it from the house.

Clark crept closer. Everything was quiet except for what sounded like a radio in the kitchen. He jumped when Dusty, the border collie, let out a sharp bark.

"Hush, Dusty," Martha Kent ordered. Clark came within view of the screen door.

"Mom?" he called.

At the salutation, his mother ran out of the kitchen and appeared behind the screen door. She threw it open and ran to him with her arms open; he caught her, hugging her and lifting her an inch or two off the ground. Mom's arms flew around his neck and her hand cupped the back of his head.

"My baby," she whispered.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes," she said, hoarsely. "Some of the men from church came and tarped the roof, see? They took the truck out, too. The power came back on this morning. Come inside-no, wait, _stop!_ Wipe your feet first."

Clark scraped his boots on the welcome mat and showed her the sole of one. Martha nodded, satisfied, and opened the screen door for him.

"You look worn to threads," she said in a softer tone. "Are _you _all right?"

"I'm very, very tired," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They all but sent me home on account of it."

"I'll bet you're hungry, too. I'll fix you something. Get out of that suit, honey, and I'll make

you some supper."

She patted his shoulder and went back into the kitchen. Clark stared after her, amazed as he always had been by her resilience, then headed to his old bedroom.

He'd worn the suit so long, he had to peel it off his skin; he folded it and the cape-both compressed to an astonishingly small size-and slipped them into the chest of drawers, beneath his ordinary clothes. After pulling on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he sat down at the kitchen table. Martha set a plate in front of him.

"The Morrises brought me a meal yesterday and these are the leftovers. Eat up. I've already had my dinner."

Clark pulled the plate towards him. "I had an apple for breakfast but that was it. I'm starved."

Martha was horrified. "Good grief, I don't think I've ever known your metabolism to run on such low fuel!"

He hadn't, either, and lit into the meal. She sat down beside him, watching him for a few moments. When she spoke, it was in a lowered, softer tone.

"Is it as bad in the city as they're saying?"

He tore his piece of bread with a dismayed nod. "Terrible."

She laid her hand over his. "I'm sorry you had to do away with one of your own kind."

"He's _not _one of my own kind," Clark muttered. "Or rather, he _wasn't_. I don't want anything to do with anyone who senselessly murders thousands of people-or threatens my mother."

Martha lowered her eyes with a small smile. "Well, thanks for coming to my rescue, hon."

He squeezed her hand, shuddering to think of what might've happened had he not come in time. The sight of Zod bellowing down at her had enraged him like nothing else.

"Are you going back?" she asked after a moment.

"I told them I would. But I'm only spending half a day there. Then I'm coming to Smallville."

"In that suit?" Martha asked, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the bedroom.

Clark smirked. "You think I shouldn't?"

"You might give poor old Mrs. Lee a heart attack if she sees you in it."

"You think she'd recognize me?"

"Clark," she said, gently incredulous. "Everyone I've talked to recognized you."

Heart sinking, he looked away. She grabbed his hand again, spoke in a gentle whisper.

"They recognized you-but no one will breathe a word about it. They _understand_, sweetheart. Everything makes sense to them now. But you know Kansas folks. Everyone knows; therefore, no one'll talk about it because there's no _need_ to discuss it."

He gulped a mouthful of food, too relieved to respond. Martha patted his hand, then drew hers away, taking a deep breath and tossing her head. "So, Miss Lane gave me a call the other night."

Clark swallowed hard. "Good. I mean, I asked her to . . . I thought you'd want to know we

were both all right."

Martha leaned forward on her folded arms. "She's a nice girl. For a reporter."

Clark said nothing, but he held his breath.

"She was a big help to you, wasn't she?"

He nodded slowly.

"I think she's a tad bit in love with you."

Clark smiled cautiously. "I think I might be a tad bit in love with _her_."

Martha sighed. "It doesn't really surprise me. I could tell when you two were planning on how to get the baby shuttle out of the barn that you had a . . . an understanding. She could finish your sentences, but you kept her brain out of the clouds."

Clark's smile broadened. Lois had been so excited over the baby shuttle and the hope of defeating Zod, she'd been almost giddy. He'd had to purposefully remain calm in the hopes that she'd not succumb to delusions of grandeur or swift victory.

"No one else but you and Dad has ever believed in me like she does," he said.

Martha tucked a greying strand behind her ear. "She's also the first young woman in your life who proved she'd risk everything for your sake, and that says something to me. Want some coffee?"

He answered in the affirmative and she went to the counter. He mulled over what she'd just said for a moment, then asked, "Do you mind if I pursue the friendship?"

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Mind? Why would I mind?"

"Well, I know there was some friction between the two of you when she came here in July."

Martha winced. "What else was I going to do when some strange girl comes asking questions about my son? I hope she forgives me for it."

"Well, she told me on the back way to Edwards Air Force Base that she respects you a great deal. She feels bad about even probing our story . . . but really, how else was she going to walk into our life? _I_ don't hold it against her."

"The strange workings of Providence," Martha mused, bringing a mug to him. "I don't mind as long as she keeps your secret. Bring her out to the farm to visit once I've got the house fixed up a little. I might even be able to cure her of some of her city-slicker ways."

* * *

He woke early the next morning and Martha fixed him breakfast. Then he slipped into the blue suit and she helped him fasten the cape to his shoulders. It was the second time she had done so.

The first time, he'd been preparing to surrender himself to Zod. She-calm, steady Martha who rarely showed deep emotion-had cried. Even he'd been unable to hold back tears and had to tear himself away from her, knowing he might never see her again.

This time, however, there was cheer in the preparation. She stepped back, put her hands on

her hips, and gave him a long evaluation.

"It's pretty odd to see your figure like that after years of hiding it behind baggy t-shirts," she said, scratching her head. "You've got a fine one, that's for sure."

"Just so long as it doesn't attract an army of screaming fangirls," Clark teased. "I'll see you

this evening, okay?"

"As Clark, or as Superman?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, Mom, don't you start. If I've got to have a second name, can't people at least call me by a real one?"

She swatted his backside as he passed her. "People won't remember 'Kal-El,' but they will remember 'Superman.' In matters of style . . ."

" . . . swim with the current," he finished, laughing. "I'll come as Clark. See you."

He bent and kissed her cheek; she patted his arm, and he took off.


	3. Conceal, Don't Feel

_Don't let them in, don't let them see_

_Be the good girl you always have to be_

_Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know..._

_—Demi Lovato, "Let It Go"_

Getting back into the swing of things at _The Daily Planet_ was next to impossible for Lois. The building still stood, thank God, but most of the windows had been blown out, allowing debris into the offices and appliances. The paper would be confined to online distribution until the office was back in order.

In the two weeks since the battle, Lois hadn't been idle. The numbness that had settled over her after Clark left her on the fire escape wore off quickly. Her emotions ran high. More than once she, who'd been embedded with the First Division in Baghdad for six months and had seen men blown to bits, was reduced to tears at the sight of ordinary men and women rebuilding their lives from the ground up.

She completely lost it, though, when she saw the battered bodies of little children being gently removed from a crushed daycare. She had to leave the scene, not wanting anyone to see her cry.

She manipulated her assignments so she could pass by wherever Kal-El was. He only spent half-days in the city now; he told some reporter-who wasn't from the _Planet_, much to Lois' chagrin-that he was helping other needy friends the rest of the time. Everyone assumed that meant he was in Smallville, the town where Zod and some of his people had, "for some reason," landed in the pre-battle hours.

But Kal-El was never seen there in his Kryptonian regalia, which made some people scratch their heads. Lois, who knew better, kept her mouth shut.

If he saw her in Metropolis, it was only from a distance. Whenever they made eye contact, he always sent a courteous nod her way. That was all. Lois understood. No need to attract attention to themselves or to their relationship.

Still, she thought about him constantly. She wasn't really daydreaming about Superman, either. Lois caught herself thinking more about the grieving young man in an old Kansas cemetery. Clark Kent. He was the one who fascinated her with his intelligence, his childlike need for friendship, his silent courage, his selflessness.

How come she hadn't known anybody like that before now?

Perry called her into his office one morning, holding a couple sheets of stapled paper against his chest. Lois shut the door behind him and planted herself in front of his desk, trying to think of what she could've done that deserved a reprimand.

"Now look," he began, fixing her with his steel-grey eyes, "I figured it would be easier for me to break this to you, rather than for you to be bombarded with questions from other reporters-"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Perry held out the paper to her. It was an article printed from _The_ _Spectator_, Glen Woodburn's site. The headline, though . . . Lois snatched it from him and skimmed it in growing fury-and panic.

It was overblown. Sensational. Written by Woodburn himself, of course, and all about the true nature of Superman's close working relationship with Lois Lane during the battle of Metropolis. Because there was at least one incident-according to an anonymous witness-proving it wasn't mere friendship, just before General Zod reappeared for the final, decisive conflict.

Lois looked at Perry with an expression that could've curdled milk.

"Who blabbed?"

"Not me," Perry said, holding up his hands.

Lois slammed the article onto the table and marched towards the door.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Perry said, half-standing. "Come back here!"

"Lombard and Jenny were the only ones who saw me and Kal-El in that moment-besides you," Lois snapped. "Jenny wouldn't tell, but I'll bet your bottom dollar Lombard would!"

"Even if he did, that's no reason for you to fly off the handle. Sit down."

Lois obeyed-reluctantly. Her face was red. This was exactly what she'd feared, that someone would spread the word that Superman and Miss Lane were seen kissing. She wanted to get her hands around the neck of whoever had spilled the beans-and to a creep like Woodburn, no less.

"There _were _other people climbing out of the rubble, just like we were," Perry said quietly. "It could've been anybody, but I _don't_ think it was Lombard. You weren't here at the office when Woodburn threw you under the bus on national television, remember? We were all infuriated-even Lombard. He wouldn't throw you to the wolves."

Lois crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing, just fumed.

"Besides, it's your own fault," Perry said, sitting back. "You shouldn't have gone to him with your alien story in the first place."

Lois allowed herself a smirk. "Don't think I haven't learned my lesson."

"You'd better think of a response before you get bombarded with questions about it," he said. "Will you confirm, or deny?"

"I'll say 'no comment,' " Lois said with a feisty toss of her head.

Perry snorted. "That won't satisfy people like Woodburn."

"They'll find out I can dig in my heels deeper than anybody. Ask General Swanwick."

Now Perry laughed. "Have you heard from him?"

"I heard from his aide, Captain Harris," Lois said. "She said the general wanted to know if I was doing all right after . . . well, after everything that happened aboard the plane. It was a nice gesture. I shouldn't wonder if he feels bad about trying to intimidate me into a confession at the air force base."

"Well, I could've told him how mule-headed you can be." Perry waved his hand towards the door. "All right, Lane, you can go. And look, try to keep a cool head over this whole _Spectator _article. If you don't, people like Woodburn will pounce on you. Take that from a veteran reporter who's seen it happen."

Lois, standing at the door again by now, nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," Perry said, fitting his glasses on the bridge of his nose again.

Closing the door behind her, Lois glimpsed Steve Lombard on the other side of the bull-pen. They'd butted heads over the years, nursing a rivalry that hovered somewhere between friendly and contentious-but Perry's confidence in his integrity soothed Lois' suspicions.

How she'd deal with the possibility of intense scrutiny would be a trickier problem.

* * *

Her mother had returned to the States a few days ago. After work, Lois headed to the Freeman Tower, the tallest skyscraper that had survived the battle, and took the elevator up to Annie Sarkowski's penthouse. She stood in front of the closed door in a luxuriously-carpeted hallway and took a deep breath.

_Come on, Lois, keep it together, it's not like you're walking back onto Zod's ship. _

For a moment Lois thought she'd rather be on the _Black Zero_ than here. She'd never been at ease around her mother. Her earliest memory was of her parents fighting-or rather, of Mom shouting at Dad while he took the lashing in silence. General Lane had been one of the most respected men in the United States army, but in his own home he was ridiculed by a wife who hated the constant moves and his frequent absences.

After the highly-publicized divorce, her mother led a separate life in a world of glitzy parties and politics and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. She wouldn't have had all her connections, of course, if she hadn't been General Lane's wife once upon a time, but Annie capitalized on them and her own interests in arts and culture to fashion a new life for herself.

Lois hated it-not Annie's genuine interests, which were brilliant in themselves, but her callous attitude towards the divorce and Dad's regret over the way things had turned out. Small wonder that Lois, a teenager by that time, resolved to be independent and defy her mother's expectations by pursuing a career in journalism.

With all that in the back of her mind, Lois rapped smartly on the door. It opened quickly and she found herself face to face with her mother.

Annie Sarkowski, a small woman of strong, attractive features, smiled at her. "Lois! I's good to see you. Come on inside, don't hang back like you're a stranger."

She reached out and grabbed Lois' arm, pulling her inside and shutting the door behind her. Lois tried to smother the all-too-familiar panic that came with being trapped.

"Thanks for asking me to drop by," she said, forcing a smile. "How was the flight back from Paris?"

"Dreadful," Annie said, putting a hand to her temple as she passed Lois. "I was supposed to come home last Saturday, of course. Well, there was no catching a flights or even a cruise back, what with the Metropolis airport and harbor still closed. I almost had to wring a few necks just to get a flight into Gotham. From there I made use of the taxis-and that was no small feat, let me tell you!"

Lois felt sorry for the poor cabmen who had to drive Annie all the way from Gotham. She glanced around the well-furnished apartment full of art deco paintings. "Well, thankfully the penthouse wasn't damaged."

"Yes, no thanks to your new friend Superman," Annie said with a snort. "Don't worry, I've been keeping up with all the news. From what I hear, he smashed through nearly every building downtown. Have a seat-oh, and don't mind all the suitcases, I haven't finished unpacking."

Lois sat down on her mother's low sofa and clasped her hands on her knees. Annie sat down across from her in a deep, cushioned chair, crossing her sculpted legs and fixing her piercing blue eyes on her daughter.

"So start telling," Annie commanded sharply. Now _this _was the mother Lois knew: haughty, demanding, bitingly sarcastic. "I didn't know you were even friends with this alien fellow until I heard you'd been arrested."

Remembering Perry's admonition to keep a cool head, Lois told the story as best as she could. She reminded her mother-because Annie had, of course, forgotten-about her adventures on Ellesmere Island back in December, but left out her long search for Clark and merely said she'd ended up finding out who he really was.

Annie sat back, lifted her eyebrows. "Well? Who is he?"

Lois shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mom. I can't tell you, not in good conscience. I promised him I'd keep his identity secret."

"And I suppose that's why you were arrested after this General Zod announced he wanted his countryman back," Annie said dryly. "People knew you'd been tracking this fellow, so the FBI nabbed you and tried to make you give up the information."

"Right."

"Well, you really should've contacted my friend Senator McCallister as soon as the alien ship showed up. He has contacts in the FBI, you know. They could've located this Superman and Metropolis would've been spared such devastation. How _could_ you have stayed silent, Lois?"

"I had a moral obligation-"

"Nonsense! The fate of the world was at stake and you were worried about your _honor_?"

Lois bit the side of her mouth and looked away. Her mother didn't understand the meaning of honor. She certainly didn't know how it felt to risk everything, even your life, for someone else.

"Unless," Annie added slowly, "it wasn't simply your honor you were thinking about."

She leaned forward and took up her iPad, lying on the coffee table. Lois' heart jumped into her throat when her mother handed her the device. The screen showed the _Spectator _website, and there was Woodburn's article, with all its breathless, maddening questions about a star-crossed romance.

_Darn it, darn it, darn it . . ._

"How do you explain _that_?" Annie demanded. "Do you realize I've gotten half a dozen phone calls today asking if my daughter is really carrying on a romance with this-this-"

"Hero?" Lois offered sharply.

Annie's eyes flashed. "He's an alien, Lois, he's not even part of this world."

At that, Lois slammed the iPad down on the coffee table much harder than she intended. "He's as much a part of this world as we are. He was raised here, this is _home _to him. He wants nothing more than to be accepted for who he is and to use his gifts to help the world. The only reason he kept himself a secret for so long was because he was terrified people like you would reject him in your own close-minded fear and _arrogance_!"

"Fine," Annie said, throwing up her hands. "I'm sorry he's had a rough life. We've all had our trials. But as your mother, I'll tell you I still think he's dangerous and you're playing with fire."

Lois hesitated, detecting real concern in her mother's voice, and tried to soften her tone. "He saved my life three times, Mom. I really don't think I have anything to fear. He's kind, he's thoughtful, he's-"

"He's an _a-li-en_," Annie repeated, drawing out the word for emphasis. "And I don't approve of my daughter running around with aliens. Do I make myself clear?"

"Mom! I'm twenty-nine years old. You're acting like I'm six!"

Annie held the iPad up towards her. "Did he really kiss you?"

Lois clenched her hands. "We thought every minute of that day that one of us was going to die. He nearly died on Zod's ship-he couldn't handle the atmosphere inside and started throwing up blood. It was _horrible._ I almost died in a damaged ship. The world engine in the Indian Ocean tried to kill him, and _then_ I fell out of a military plane. What did you expect us to do when we found ourselves safe and thought the battle was over? Shake hands and walk away?"

"Are you carrying on a romance now?" Annie asked icily.

Lois drew a shaky breath. "No. I haven't talked with him since the battle."

"Can you promise me you never will?"

Lois hesitated. She didn't particularly want to lie. Honesty and openness were tools of her trade. But she couldn't give her mother a piecrust promise, either . . .

"Don't worry, Mom," she said slowly, quietly, choosing her words with great care. "I'll never be Superman's steady girlfriend."

_But I'd be Clark Kent's in a heartbeat,_ she thought fiercely.The silent distinction eased her conscience.

Annie sat back, satisfied. "I understand this Superman is still helping clean up Metropolis. That's very nice of him, the least he could do after what happened. But I don't want to hear anything more about this relationship and I want you to put it out of your head. It makes my life difficult and I'm sure you'll be pestered about it for a while. You don't need that in your life, Lois, not if you're going to focus on your career."

_Since when did you care about my writing, except where a Pulitzer Prize was concerned? _Lois thought bitterly. She nodded, turned away from her mother.

"I've got to go," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry if my adventures have embarrassed you."

"I'm sorry, too," Annie said.

Lois flinched, as if the words were a whiplash.

"Otherwise, though, I did hear you conducted yourself well," Annie added, as if regretting her previous words. "Every report says you were courageous, and I'm proud of that."

"Thanks," Lois murmured, opening the door.

"And if you get a chance, thank Superman for me for saving your life-and the world, too, I suppose," Annie said, picking a fingernail now and not even looking at Lois. "If we're stuck with him we might as well give credit where credit is due."

"Yes, Mom," Lois said. "I'll see you later."

"Take care," Annie replied breezily.

Lois walked with long, angry strides away from her mother's apartment. Only when she was in the elevator did she slump against the wall and release a long, tired breath. An aching loneliness for her father seized her. He would've understood. If he was still alive and had been in General Swanwick's place . . .

But there was no point in thinking like that. Besides, there were so many other things filling her heart and mind now, the idea of Annie Sarkowski reducing her to a trembling sad-sack filled her with indignation. Clark Kent would not be intimidated into moping. Neither would she.

The elevator opened. Lois straightened, composed herself to look like the smart, determined young reporter she was, and marched out into the busy, construction-filled street.

* * *

She was sitting on her own bed that evening, typing up tomorrow's article, when her phone rang. Lois picked it up and glanced at the screen. The displayed number was unfamiliar for only a moment; then she recognized it.

"Oh my gosh," she gasped, quickly picking up. "Hello?"

There was a hesitant silence, then a quiet, "Lois?"

She put her hand to her mouth. "Clark?"

"Hey there."

Lois couldn't sit still; she jumped out of bed and started pacing the length of the room. "Hey there! I didn't think I'd hear from you so soon. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Where are you?"

"Home."

_Home. Kansas. _Lois understood his caution and reined herself in. "That's good, that's really good . . . and you're sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "You sound as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. It's just me, for Heaven's sake."

_"Just me." As if he was "just anybody." _Lois plopped down in a chair and put her forehead in her hand. "I'm sorry, you just took me by surprise. Why are you calling? You said we weren't supposed to unless there was an emergency . . ."

"I know, but I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you." She heard, faintly, the creak of a porch swing on the other end. "I also wanted to let you know that I've been thinking about what I'll do once things are . . . you know, settled."

"Really?" Lois asked, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah . . . I can't just sit around and do nothing, now that I know what I _can _do."

"No, of course not."

"I might be spending more time up your way. Looking normal, I mean. Being normal."

_Being Clark Kent. _Lois' breath caught in her throat. "Why-why here?"

"You have any other suggestions?" he asked, and with a hint of his dry humor.

"No, not particularly," she said, allowing herself a laugh. "Well, when do you think you'll be moving in that direction?"

"After Christmas, I'd think. The dust needs to settle. I need enough time to where I won't be recognized right off the bat."

"I understand." Lois leaned forward on her knees. "Well, whenever that happens, you can be sure you've got a friend here."

She heard him chuckle-not the real laugh she really wanted to hear, but it was something. "I appreciate it. Though I'm afraid your friendship with me is starting to cause you some trouble."

"Oh, you're talking about Woodburn's article?" Lois said, injecting cheery defiance into her voice. She refused to let him worry about her. "Never mind that, Clark. If he so much as shows his face to me, I'll skin him alive for that piece."

"I believe you," Clark said, sounding very amused now. "I don't ever want to be on the receiving end of your fury, that's for sure."

Lois smiled; she saw herself in her mirror and realized she was all flushed and giddy-looking. She cleared her throat. "Look, um, since phone calls are so tricky, would you rather try email?"

She heard, on the other end, a woman's distant voice. The words were indistinguishable. Clark responded to it with a quiet, "All right, Mom," before addressing Lois again.

"I think that's a great idea, only I'd recommend you make another account separate from the one you already use. I reckon you use email a lot in your job."

"I do," she said. "I probably don't want your letters mixed up in my work mail. You have texting on your phone?"

"Yeah . . ."

"After we get off, text me your email address. I'll write you first, from my new address."

"Sounds good." He paused a moment. "I've only been home from for about an hour and my mom's fixed me some supper. I should probably go."

"Okay," Lois said softly. "Is it bad in Smallville?"

"Not as bad as Metropolis. Only ten people were killed, if you can believe it."

"Well, thank God."

"Exactly. It was good to talk to you, Lois."

"The feeling's mutual," Lois murmured. "I'll write first, remember. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

* * *

**As always, thanks so much for the positive reviews! ****In response to Mrs. Noerhman's question: no, at this point my Clark has never been in a physical relationship with a woman. I agree with what you said about how that _would_ be pretty irresponsible considering he didn't know who or what he was; plus, I reckon Jonathan and Martha instilled conservative values/principles into him, so pre-marital sex probably wouldn't be something he'd be engaged in. Also, if my memory serves me correctly, Henry Cavill himself suggested that Clark, concerned about his strength, would've avoided physical interactions/intimacy.**

**All that said, my first story features Lois and Clark's daughter, so obviously in my MoS-verse this concern doesn't last forever ;) **


	4. You've Got Mail

_"The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings."_

_-You've Got Mail_

The next morning, while grabbing something to eat in his mom's kitchen, Clark checked his email. Sure enough, there was one letter in his new inbox. He smiled to himself and quickly selected it, then sat down at the kitchen table and began to read.

_Clark,_

_I'll admit, I spent five minutes typing and re-typing "Dear Clark" or "To Clark" or "Dear Mr. Kent" over and over again. It all felt too awkward. I don't want you to feel like I'm a creeper, all right? No "Dear Anything" until I know you better. _

_Now that I've made such a professional-sounding statement, and after assuring you I don't want to come off as a creep, I herewith demand that you tell me all about yourself. Haha. And I don't mean I want you to repeat everything you've already told me (or that I already figured out). I want to know about you, your interests, your childhood, your travels, your convictions. _

_I want you to know more about Smallville and your parents-your dad, especially, and what your mother is really like under that steely demeanor of hers. Right now she's a distant, stern _Regina_ of the Midwest that I dare not approach for fear of being squashed-and yet that very thing makes me believe you take after her. You can have a lordly look about you the same way she can make you feel like a piddly commoner in the presence of a queen-but you have a gentle side. Surely she does as well. Tell me she does, otherwise I'll be scared of her forever._

_I just realized you know precious little about my own history. Here's a brief overview. I was an army brat. My father was a general. I was born in South Korea and didn't come to the States until I was three years old. My parents divorced when I was eleven. My mom got custody of me and I lived with her here in Metropolis until I went off to college._

_I got my degree in journalism and became an intern for the Daily Planet. My dad and Perry White were acquaintances, so that's how I ended up there. After my dad died Perry became something of a father-figure, though I'll admit we've had our moments. It's what comes of putting two muleheaded people together._

_A little list of questions for you:_

_Do you read? If so, what books do you like?_

_Your opinion on movies?_

_Music? _

_Coffee or tea?_

_Animals?_

_Signing off for now,_

_L.L._

Clark rubbed his chin and suddenly realized he'd read through the whole letter smiling. Her honesty and good humor were undeniably endearing. He glanced at the clock. He'd slipped into a routine of arriving in Metropolis well before the sun came up. If he allowed himself half an hour to write Lois back, he could still be there early enough to meet the work crews returning to the devastated areas for another day's work.

Clark sat back, careful not to lean the chair back too far-he'd been known to snap a few of his mother's chairs into matchwood-and poised his thumbs over the screen of his phone. He began to type-slowly at first, and then with more confidence.

_Lois,_

_That's fine: no "dear" nonsense. I'd rather this be a relaxed correspondence anyway, and "dear Clark" or "dear Lois" makes it sound more formal, at least in my opinion. Thank you for your letter. It cheered me up after yesterday, which seemed grim and sad even though we made good progress-both here and in Metropolis._

_I don't wear my suit here. I don't want to make people I've known all my life anymore nervous __around me than they already were. But the odd thing is, they don't seem afraid of me anymore. My __mom believes they all know I'm Kal-El and I think she's right. Now that they know who I am and that I'm not going to hurt them, they're much more comfortable around me. Not until the past couple of weeks did I ever feel like I really belonged in Smallville. It's nice to call it "home" and really mean it._

_I had to smile at your description of Mom. She's not as steely as you think. That's all part of her guard. She had shielded me for so long, the idea of anyone else knowing my secret made her defensive. She feels bad about giving you the cold shoulder this summer. I think the two of you would be great friends if you ever ran into each other again-which is something I mean to arrange. _

_You know a little about my father already. He was quieter than Mom, loved his books, loved his land. I knew he loved me, even if he wasn't as openly affectionate as Mom. I remember when he first told me how they found me, he hugged me tight. I was amazed-and grateful. I needed that physical sign of affection. _

_Thank you for sharing some of your own history with me. It sounds like we both went through some hard times as children. And we've both lost our fathers. I'm sorry to hear that. But what doesn't break you makes you stronger, or so Dad used to tell me, and it sounds like we've both adapted and overcome._

_Yes, I read. As a kid, I lived and breathed books. I had few friends at school (though I wanted them) so I made friends with fictional characters and historical heroes. I'll read pretty much anything I can get my hands on. As far as movies go . . . I'd rather read, to be honest. But I do like some of those Pixar movies. You know what I'm talking about? I didn't care how old I was, I enjoyed those. _

_Music. You've got me stumped there because I've never listened to much music except whatever my parents were listening to on the radio, or what I heard in church. I prefer coffee to tea, though the caffeine makes me edgy. And I love animals. The only animals that never seem to take to me are cats. I'm a dog magnet. _

_Now I expect your own opinions on the questions you asked._

_Your friend,_

_Clark_

* * *

Lois dared not check her new inbox all day. She was afraid of disappointment-but afraid, too, that he _had_ written her back and she wouldn't be able to reply until after work. Then she'd be eaten up with suspense and be good for nothing.

It didn't really matter though, whether or not she refrained from checking; she was still distracted. Perry walked past her cubicle and frowned at her.

"Got your head in the clouds, Lane?" he asked, disapproving.

"No, just tired," Lois said, snapping to attention and returning to the outline of tomorrow's column.

When she got home, she threw her purse and laptop onto her sofa and pulled out her phone. Her fingers trembled with excitement as she logged into the new inbox. When she saw Clark's letter, she sucked in her breath and read it fast, then again more slowly.

"Keep it together, Lois," she whispered to herself, opening her laptop. "Don't be giddy, be cool. Don't turn him off or you might lose him forever. For heaven's sake, I think I've gone completely lovesick."

Then she laughed at herself, because it was the first time she'd ever said that about herself. By the time she'd settled on the sofa with her laptop, she was much calmer and felt she could write an honest, friendly, but subdued reply.

_Clark,_

_I don't judge you for liking Pixar movies. When Monsters, Inc. came out I went to the theater all by myself (I was in my first year of college) and laughed and cried like it was a soul-gripping drama. Maybe it was. I'm glad to hear you read, too, though I already guessed it. You talk like a man who's well-read. When my parents were going through the divorce, I buried myself in books. My world was collapsing over my head. Immersing myself in Middle Earth and Narnia was the only way I knew to protect myself._

_Please tell your mother I still feel bad about barging into her life last summer. If I'd known what a painful thing it was for her, I would've toned down my over-eager, insensitive presentation (though I'm afraid I can't promise I would've smothered my curiosity about you). I'm afraid I'm known for my occasional tactlessness. I don't like small talk and I despise false pretenses, but in my attempt to combat it my own honesty turns brutal. I'd love to meet your mother again under more relaxed circumstances. _

_Your father reminds me of my own. Quiet, thoughtful, but loving. I have fond memories of Dad. He told me once, after he and Mom divorced, that he wished he could go back and fix so many __of the problems that led to their split. I don't think all the problems were on his end, though, and that's what's so difficult for me to deal with today. My mother is a domineering woman and it's always been either her way or the highway._

_Before I close, about the other three questions. I live on coffee and music. If you ever hear that writers have the uncanny ability to turn caffeine into words-well, it's 100% true. I drink too much coffee for my own good. My mother is a music-lover so I've grown up listening to everything from classical to jazz to soundtracks to country western. _

_Oh, and I love cats._

_P.S. Ignore or laugh off whatever you hear about me and Glen Woodburn. I may have to give a __response to that article he wrote about us, and I may give the impression that I don't care two cents about you. It's not true, but I have to throw them off the scent._

* * *

The letter-writing gave Lois something to look forward to. They were a secret pleasure, a bit of lightheartedness in a dark, gloomy Metropolis.

Work was depressing; all the news revolved around the city's recovery and the horrifying death toll. A well-known investor friend of her mother's, William Leonard, was heading an investigation of Zod's final ship, or rather, the ruins of it. The investigation made Lois nervous. If they discovered anything about Krypton that endangered Clark's secret . . .

If Clark was worried about the investigation, his letters never showed it. They were too full of his own recovery work and his history. Lois felt like she was gathering notes for a novel. Clark Kent's life was certainly worthy of an adventure story, in her opinion.

It was surreal to stop by one of his work sites now, to see him in his Kryptonian suit and cape and think, _This is the man I'm writing to almost every night. _He was a mystery-a kind one, thank goodness-and she was unlocking his secrets, peeling back the layers of his character and history one by one.

At the same time she was opening up to him, letting him in on her own secrets. For the first time, there was someone who really cared about her enough to encourage her, to treat her like she was something valuable and not just an employee or a troublesome child. Lois found herself asking for his advice in dealing with her mother or with irritating colleagues. She trusted him, knew he was clear-headed, smart, and strangely wise. Jonathan and Martha Kent had taught him well.

One chilly November evening, she received an email that made her heart jump in her throat.

_Don't write anything specific about where I am or what I'm doing. I'm worried Uncle Sam is watching me. Delete this email as soon as you get it. _

She obeyed. She'd gotten into a habit of printing his emails and then deleting them anyway, but she didn't even bother printing this one. Quickly she grabbed her phone off her kitchen counter and texted him.

_ Deleted. Should we stop writing? _

His response came immediately. _Couldn't do that now, I depend on your letters too much. Just be careful what you say._

Lois thought a moment. _OK. Think we should make a code for our letters?_

_Sure_, he texted back._ But you make it up. You're clever. _

Amused, Lois leaned against the counter and typed a coy response. _Well, thank you, I'm flattered. Kansas = Pumpkin Spice Latté? (I'm having a craving, can you tell?)_

His response made her gasp. _That just made me laugh out loud. Scared my mom to death._

Wait-she'd made him laugh and hadn't been there to hear it?

_If I made you laugh, my day is made_, she wrote._ Let me hear it some time! _

_ Say something funny like that next time we get to see each other face-to-face, then_, he replied.

* * *

By Christmas, Metropolis had won. It was still fragile, but the people had shown a grim defiance, as if they were determined not to let the ghost of Zod's ambitions triumph over them.

Smallville was starting to look like its old, homey self again, too. Its people worked with a will, wanting their little town looking halfway decent before the blizzards set in. The only thing that disturbed Clark was the surveillance drone he'd glimpsed, with his ultra-sharp vision, flying over the Midwest skies. He knew he'd eluded it every morning on his way to Metropolis, but it still made him nervous.

One chilly morning just after the holiday he went to work cutting fresh slabs of wood with his dad's old table saw. It was the first step towards repairing Martha's battered porch. The roof, at least, was no longer tarped. Martha was in town, working at the newly-opened Sears just as she'd done ever since Jonathan Kent's death. Clark intended to have the work done by the time she got home.

While he worked, he thought of Lois' most recent letter, an amusing account of her mother's glitzy Christmas party. He could imagine the no-nonsense Lois, armed with her biting sarcasm, in the midst of such overblown finery and rather liked the picture. The sound of a truck pulling into the driveway startled him, however; he turned and saw Pete Ross getting out of the truck and

coming towards him.

"Pete, how's it going?" Clark called.

"Pretty good, pretty good." Pete stepped onto the porch and looked askance at the table saw. "You wearing safety goggles or something?"

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, scrambling for an answer. "Guess I ought to, huh?"

Pete looked at him oddly but didn't pursue the subject. "Look, I was driving by on my way to my parents' house and wanted to ask you if you'd help us frame up the Kelseys' new barn tomorrow morning, before the snowstorm hits. They're looking for stronger men than, say, me. I thought of you."

Clark nodded. "I'll be there if you do me a favor-hold onto this stud while I cut it in half."

Pete was more than willing; sheepishly, Clark threw him a pair of safety glasses out of the toolbox and put on a pair himself. The saw whined and hissed; when it fell silent Clark had two solid studs in his possession. He picked them up and tossed them, without thinking about it, onto a pile of identical studs as lightly as if they were matches.

"That's the last of 'em," he said, wiping his hands on his blue jeans. "I'll start work tomorrow afternoon if it doesn't snow. The forecast isn't promising."

He glanced up at the overcast sky, then at his friend. Pete was staring at him, one eyebrow quirked, his lips pursed skeptically.

"What?" Clark asked, puzzled.

Pete slammed his gloved hands into his coat pockets. "Look, I'm going to ask you a question and I want a straight answer."

Clark picked up the toolbox to reorganize it. "I'll give it if I can."

"Are you Superman?"

Clark gave a start, his head jerking around. Pete met his gaze steadily.

"What makes you ask that question?" Clark asked with forced calm.

"The school bus," Pete said quietly.

Clark looked away. "That was years ago, Pete."

"All right, then, let's talk about something a bit more recent. Four weeks ago now-some crazy lady from outer space slams Superman into my store. He gets up not three feet from where I'm standing, turns around, and looks me in the eye. And I said to myself, 'Gosh, if that doesn't look like Clark Kent.' "

"Looks can be deceiving," Clark said coolly.

"Well, you're looking at me the same way you did then," Pete retorted, folding his arms over his chest, "and I don't think I'm deceived."

A year ago, this conversation would've sent Clark's heart pounding and his adrenline levels soaring. For some reason, he didn't feel that old, familiar panic at all. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and knew it was time-at least where Pete was concerned-to tell the truth.

"Okay. You got me."

Pete blinked. "Then you really are-?"

"Superman," Clark said, not even trying to hide his disgust at the name. "I'd rather be called Kal-El but nobody seems to like that."

Now that it came to it-now that he owned the secret instead of simply suspecting it-Pete was flabbergasted. "So you're _not _from this world after all."

"Nope," Clark said, slamming the toolbox shut. It was heavy, but as he and Pete walked to the barn he swung it as freely as if it were a light basket. "I came here as a baby-a week or two old, Mom guessed by the looks of me-because my real parents wanted to save me from our decaying planet. They sent me to Earth and I crash-landed here."

"And Jonathan and Martha adopted you," Pete finished in an awed voice. "Raised you like you were an average American kid . . ."

"Well, if you can call a boy who can see through walls and skeletons 'an average American kid,' " Clark said wryly.

Pete frowned. "You do realize you saved the planet."

Clark sighed. "I do. But it's not a feather in my cap. People _died_. You don't realize it because only ten people died here in Smallvile-but they've got a death toll of close to two thousand in Metropolis. And it all could've been avoided if I'd moved faster-"

"Dude," Pete interrupted. He had always called Clark that when he was about to make a point. "Dude, you sounded like you were booking it to me. And so far I haven't heard anyone blaming you except for a few snotty politicians."

"Yeah, I hear there are a few businessmen and intellectuals in Metropolis who don't like me."

"The _people_ love you," Pete said hotly. "Just punch the intellectuals' lungs out."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Like that would help matters. No, Pete, my parents-"

"The Kents, or the real ones?"

Clark pressed his lips firmly together. "The Kents _are_ my real parents. They're the ones who loved me and raised me."

"Yeah, but-"

"My _biological_ father told me I was as much a child of Earth as of-of that other place," Clark said, waving his hand vaguely at the cloudy sky. He didn't like to say the word _Krypton_, not yet. "And he told me to side with the people _here_, not my countrymen. This _is _my home, Pete-and Jonathan and Martha Kent _are_ my parents. What I was going to say was, they taught me to use my gifts wisely."

"You mean your strength?"

Clark sighed, nodded. "My strength . . . my eyes . . . I can see through things, Pete. I could look right inside you right now and see what you had for lunch."

"Don't!" Pete said, startled.

Clark smiled. "Don't worry, I won't. I hate that part of it, actually . . . it's kind of gross. But I've been able to save a life even with that." He remembered Lois gasping for breath in the Fortress of Solitude and the sight of the gushing bleed in her abdomen.

"So you're not going to punch anyone's lungs out, I take it," Pete teased.

"No. In fact, I'm going to prove to the world-even if it takes the rest of my life-that I'm _not_ like the people who were responsible for the destruction last month." Clark gritted his teeth. "Even if it takes the rest of my life, I'll prove it."

Pete's gaze scanned Clark long and hard. "I reckon you will. And I won't tell your story, I swear. Not even to the wife."

Clark smiled. "Thanks, Pete. I appreciate it."

Only after Pete left did Clark realize the magnitude of what he'd done. For the first time, he'd told someone about himself, and without terror or shame. The only other person who knew was Lois, and she'd figured out he was an alien long before he ever confided in her. Pete was the first person he'd actually _told_.

Clark got back to work, smiling to himself. This would be an interesting story to write to Lois.

* * *

**Responding real quick to a common point in the most recent reviews: yes, my Lois is a few years younger than Clark, mainly because, when I first saw the movie, I got the impression she was either his age or a little younger. This idea, however, led to a rather unfortunate assumption that Henry Cavill and Amy Adams were close to the same age as well-NOT! When I found out she's about 10 years older than him I walked around in shell-shock for hours. Moral of the story: don't make hasty conclusions about actors' ages ;)**


	5. Some Work of Noble Note

_Some work of noble note, may yet be done,_

_Not unbecoming men that strove with gods._

_-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses"_

"See you Monday, Lois," Jenny called, waving.

"Sure thing, Jenny," Lois said, slipping her laptop into its bag. "Don't let Lombard corner you into going on a date with him."

Jenny shyly pushed away a strand of dark hair from her face. "What would be so bad about it? Have you ever been on a date with him?"

"Yes," Lois said with an exasperated widening of her eyes. "The worst part about it is that he thinks he's the biggest romantic on the planet. Now look-I'll bet he's going to try for either you or me next week. Heaven knows what he'll propose. It could be anything from a football game to a restaurant-but it _won't_ be a nice restaurant and you _don't_ want to go to a game with Lombard. He'll get so engrossed in the game, it won't be much of a date."

Jenny giggled. "Okay, I think I get the picture . . ."

"Don't do it unless you want your Saturday ruined," Lois said, smiling. "I'll see you."

Slinging her laptop bag over her shoulder, she left the bull-pen and headed downstairs. She exited the main lobby and stepped onto the street, took a deep breath of soft, early-spring air along with all the smells-pleasant and not-so-pleasant-of the rebuilding city. Instinctively, she glanced up at the sky, but there was no sign of Superman today.

_Kal-El, not Superman_, she reminded herself. Clark had told her in the letters that he hated the name. She felt a little bad about it, since she was the one who first suggested the name in that ice-cold interrogation room nearly six months ago, but it had become something to joke about in their correspondence.

They dared not use the actual word "Superman," of course, for fear that someone-a tech-savvy reporter or even the government-might be monitoring their emails. "The Name That Must Not Be Named" was the code they'd agreed upon. It was much more funny than "Superman" could ever be.

But she still hadn't talked to him face-to-face since that night on her fire escape. She hadn't seen Superman-_no, Kal-El!-_in nearly three weeks, when the last of the city's clean-up was squared away. But the letters continued, thank God. She didn't know what she'd do without them at this point.

She was about to take the first step down into the subway station when someone sidled up beside her. Lois' lips parted in irritated surprise when she recognized Glen Woodburn.

"Miss Lane," he said with a familiarity that crawled all over her. He held out his hand. "Nice to run into you today, of all days-just when I had something important to say to you."

Lois gave her copper hair a feisty toss. "Oh, how convenient."

"Yes, it is . . . mind if I walk with you a little ways?"

"Yes, I mind, but I guess I don't have much choice." Lois came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and looked him full in the face. "All right, Woodburn, what do you want?"

"To offer the olive branch," he said.

"For what?" Lois asked sarcastically. "For sending Zod and the FBI after me, or for pointing every gossip columnist with questions about Superman in my direction?"

Woodburn slammed his hands in his pockets. "You and Superman were fair game, Lois . . ."

"That's _Miss Lane _to you. And fair game, my foot! You made up some kind of fantastic romance story on the testimony of one anonymous witness-"

"A story you didn't deny," Woodburn said coolly.

"You know, it's people like you who make me think Princess Diana and Jackie Kennedy had every right to hate the press," Lois snapped. Catching the rising tone of her voice, she glanced around to make sure they weren't attracting attention; she ran a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself. "So you're offering the olive branch. What else?"

"A chance to talk about Superman for _yourself_, without the threat of 'anonymous witnesses,' " he said with a chuckle. "Listen. It's been six months since the battle-a major anniversary, you'll grant-and the _Spectator _is running a series about that day."

"I can't write for you, Woodburn," Lois said, shaking her head. "I'm under contract with the _Planet_, you know that."

"I'm not talking about a story, I'm talking about an interview," he said eagerly. "We want to interview you about your arrest, your interactions with Colonel Hardy and Dr. Hamilton-great men, great men-and of course, Superman. Minus the romance, of course."

Lois raised her eyebrows. "I wrote my own stories about the battle within weeks of the event. Consult those and quote me, if you like."

"No, Miss Lane, we want _your_ words, _your_ memories, straight from your lips to our site."

Lois narrowed her eyes. "You mean, you want what I know about Superman. The rest of the story can go to hell, for all you care."

Woodburn shrugged, chuckled disarmingly. "Well, he is a major part of the story-"

"Let me make something very clear," Lois interrupted. "Every reporter, politician, and general in the world wants to know what I know, but I have no interest-none-in being interviewed about Superman, or in giving away his secret for any amount of money you could throw at me. You can't intimidate me and you can't bribe me. I will not betray him, and certainly not for a paparazzi sewer like your website. Take _that_ and quote it in your paper!"

Woodburn looked like someone could knock him over with a feather. Lois turned on her heel, whipped out her subway card, and passed through the gate. She was about to turn a corner when she heard him calling out to her.

"You can't protect him forever!" he shouted. "One day it'll all come out. It always does."

Lois gritted her teeth and turned around. A few people were watching now, alerted by Woodburn's loud voice, but for the most part the busy station went on as usual, paying little attention to the feuding reporters.

"Maybe it will," Lois called back. "And when it does, you'll have _me_ to reckon with."

With that she marched down the corridor to the westbound platform, uneasy at the thought that people were still so determined to discover Clark's secret, but satisfied, too, that she'd finally given Glen Woodburn the smackdown he deserved.

* * *

The prairie grass was starting to turn green again. A soft breeze made it look, to Clark, like the rippling waves in the Metropolis harbor. He rolled down the pickup's passenger window and leaned his head back, allowing his senses to soak in the lonely Kansas beauty.

"It's days like this that make the sky look enormous," Martha said, ramrod-straight but perky in the driver's seat. "Kinda nice to see all that blue without a cloud in sight."

"It reminds me of the sky over the Pacific," Clark said quietly. "Makes you feel free."

"Well, now, don't fly off on me."

"I won't. But I do want to take you on another flight soon."

"Oh, no," Martha said with a laugh. "I've had enough flying for a while."

"Come on, Mom!"

"_No_." She smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry, Clark. Your flights are beautiful but I just can't stand the heights."

She parked the new pickup-the replacement for the one Zod threw into the house-just off the road at the cemetery. Together they walked slowly through the rows of headstones, a ritual Martha had performed every Saturday morning for sixteen years.

Clark always felt a little uncomfortable in the cemetery. He couldn't forget the time when, as a six-year-old, he'd attended a funeral and first discovered his ability to see through things. The involuntary veering of his vision through the coffin about to be lowered into the ground had so disturbed him, he had nightmares for weeks.

After that, the veering would strike him without warning. The worst experience happened at school, when the sight of his teacher and classmates fading into skeletons made him hysterical; he locked himself in a storage closet until his mother coaxed him out again.

It was that evening when he finally broke down, in tears, and told his parents. Neither of them showed any horror or embarrassment. Mom had gently rubbed his back while Dad counselled him to head off the inclination "at the pass"-to catch it before it took control, to steer his thoughts not towards whatever his body wanted him to see, but towards what _God_ wanted him to see or think on.

Such counsel made all the difference in the world years later, when hormones tempted him to do the same thing with a girl's clothes, or when desperation to pass a test tempted him to sneak a peek at the answers in the teacher's book. He put the counsel to good use now, refusing to allow his thoughts and vision to penetrate below the surface of the ground.

His mother's voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

"He always believed you were made for greater things, and that when the time came your shoulders would bear the weight."

Clark looked up, startled, and realized they stood before his father's grave. Martha gazed at the headstone with a faraway look in her grey eyes. Clark took a deep breath.

"I just wish he could've been here to see it," he said.

"Oh, he saw it, Clark, believe me," Martha said.

"Do you ever think that if I hadn't come into your lives, he might still be alive?" he asked quietly.

Martha jerked her head up. "Your father _loved _you more than life itself. He had no regrets in that moment-the tornado-and neither do I. Got it?"

Clark nodded, staring at the headstone. To lighten the mood again, Martha reverted to teasing.

"Sometimes I do wonder what he'd say about that suit, though."

Clark smirked. "I can see him now. _Laughing_."

"Oh, no, he wouldn't laugh . . ."

"Yes he would," Clark insisted, amused at the thought. "He'd have one good laugh-but then he'd see the seriousness of it. He'd know it was time to use my gift."

"Maybe you're right." Martha frowned. "But now it's time to think about the future, isn't it? What are you going to do when you're not saving the world? Have you given any more thought to that?"

"I have, actually," Clark said slowly, and with a smile. "I need to find a job where I can keep my ear to the ground, where I can go somewhere dangerous without people asking questions . . ."

"Like, the police force?" Martha prodded.

Clark frowned. "I've thought of that. I've also thought of journalism."

"Journalism!" Martha cried, half-amused, half-skeptical. "Don't you need a degree for that?"

"Not if I was a freelance journalist. They call them 'stringers.' "

" 'Stringers?' "

"Yeah. I wouldn't be considered regular staff, but if I proved I could tackle an assignment and write well, I could be sent to cover breaking news sites. Emergency situations where Kal-El, or Superman, if you prefer, could show up and do what he was meant to do all along."

Martha frowned. "Where did you learn all this?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Lois. But she doesn't know I'm considering this. I just asked her some discreet questions about journalism and then did my own research."

"And I suppose you're hoping you'll get a position with the _Daily Planet_?"

Clark nodded.

"Because of her, or because of the advantages of being based in Metropolis?"

"Both."

Martha looked wryly at him. "Well, at least you're honest about it. Promise me you'll take it slow. Don't rush into anything with her . . ."

"I won't, I promise," Clark said quickly. "For her sake as well as mine. But this isn't set in stone yet. I still have to get the job."

"And how will you go about doing that?"

Clark smiled, more to himself than to her. "I guess I'll have to pay a visit to Mr. Perry White."

* * *

He thought as soon as he walked into Perry White's office that this might've been a bad idea-not because Perry White might betray him, but because Perry White might have a heart attack at seeing Superman in his office at eleven o'clock at night, uninvited and almost as if he'd appeared by magic.

The famous editor almost fell backwards in his swivel chair when he saw Clark, clad in blue and red, standing in the middle of the room. He composed himself with impressive speed.

"How'd you get in here?" he demanded, whipping his glasses off his face.

"Fire escape," Clark said calmly, keeping his arms folded over his broad chest. "Sneaked past your hard-working interns without a problem."

"And how will you get out without being seen?"

Clark gestured with his head. "I'll fly out that window behind you."

A flicker of amusement passed over Perry's honest face. "I'm gonna assume you know who I am and we don't need to make any introductions. I'm also assuming you have something pretty important to say to me if you're gonna scare the dickens out of me this late at night."

Clark allowed a slight smile to soften his own face. "Right on all counts, Mr. White."

Perry stood up and went to the door. He opened it, peered out, then shut it again and locked it with a key from his pocket. He motioned for Clark to sit down. Clark obliged him, hoping it would make the editor feel more secure.

"What can I do for you, Superman?"

Clark drew a deep breath, willing himself to emote once again the steely confidence of this Superman he'd turned into. "This is all off the record, Mr. White."

"Understood."

"I've spent the past six months in the public eye. Now that Metropolis is back on its feet, it's time for me to step back and let the city rebuild. I want to help Earth, not become its babysitter. But I'm still being watched, and not just by well-meaning everyday people." Clark leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked Perry in the eye. "The government has sent drones after me. I finally had a conversation with General Swanwick about it about a week ago."

"Oh?" Perry prodded.

"I made short work of the drone and told Swanwick not to send another one after me. I'm not a threat to America. I grew up in Kansas. I love this country. But if I'm going to help, it'll be on my own terms and Washington needs to accept that."

Perry cleared his throat to keep back a smile. "I have a feeling a lot of people would've liked to see you standing up to Uncle Sam."

Clark wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he went on, choosing his words carefully. "My work here is done for now, but I know I could be called back to Metropolis at any point, or to some other crisis in the world. I need an inside track on world events. But for Earth's sake-and for mine-I can't stay in this suit all the time. I need a cover, and one that will allow me to keep my ear to the ground . . . "

"Here at the _Planet_," Perry finished slowly.

Clark, surprised by the editor's intuition, nodded. "That's what I was thinking-in a freelance position."

The editor sat back, his hand at his mouth, a thoughtful pose. After a moment's uncomfortable silence in which Clark felt himself beginning to sweat, Perry spoke.

"Can you write?"

"I can, and pretty well."

"Have some of it on hand?"

"Not at the moment, but I can send several pieces your way tomorrow."

"You know your cover won't hold if you can't prove yourself a worthy employee of the _Daily Planet_."

"I wouldn't have come here if I didn't think I could prove it," Clark said a little defiantly.

Perry gave a slight chuckle-an encouraging sign. "And I suppose I'd have to pretend like this conversation never took place."

Clark allowed himself a smile. "I'm counting on you to keep my secret for the good of _this_ planet."

Perry shook his head, self-deprecating. "And to think, a few months ago I was telling Lois not to print anything about you for fear it would turn the world upside down."

"That was a good call. The world wasn't ready."

The editor nodded. "All right. Send me some of your writing tomorrow and I'll give you my final word after the weekend. This is just a stringer job, mind you. I won't be giving you a regular position or anything."

"I understand perfectly," Clark said, standing up. He extended his hand to Perry. "I'll send you my writing tomorrow . . . under the name of Clark Kent."

* * *

_{Email from Clark to Lois}_

_Dear Lois,_

_Expect to see me on Friday. Can't say what time and I don't want to tell you where. I'd like to surprise you-but not enough to startle you completely and give ourselves away. Just keep your eyes peeled. I can't wait to see you._

_Clark_

* * *

"Come on, Lois . . . when are you gonna throw me a bone?"

Lois looked up from her computer and saw Steve approaching, holding up two tickets. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes or glance knowingly at Jenny, who stood behind her waiting for an article to deliver to Perry and his big red pen.

"Courtside seats for the game on Saturday? What do you say?"

"I say . . ." Lois said, stapling a small stack of papers, "you should go back to trolling the intern pool. You might have better luck there."

As she spoke, she handed the stack to Jenny. Almost immediately she realized her mistake. Jenny was taken aback by the sudden attention. Steve grinned and held out the tickets; Jenny, half-laughing, half-appalled, shook her head.

"Lombard! Lane!"

Lois glanced up, startled, and saw her boss coming towards them. Contrary to her initial fears, however, he didn't look upset, not even irritated. Hey, at least she wasn't in trouble.

"I want you to meet our new stringer and show him the ropes," Perry said, leaning his elbow against the top of Lois' cubicle. "This is Clark Kent."

Lois' breath caught. She could hardly believe her eyes. The young, dark-haired man standing behind Perry was tall but slightly-slouched, dressed in an unassuming but neat ensemble of blue jeans and dark flannel shirt. And he wore glasses. Large, thick-rimmed, _dorky _glasses.

He gazed around the bull-pen with shy interest, turned slightly away from her, but when he heard his own name he moved to face the cubicle. Lois' heart rate went sky-high and she quickly glanced down.

It _was_ him. His eyes were the same, keen and alert and deep, deep blue.

She could hear Steve introducing himself. She looked hard at him, but there was not a trace of recognition in her colleague's demeanor. Lois rose to her feet. Clark's calm eyes fastened on her, cool and unknowing.

"Hi," Lois said, extending her hand, forcing all her mental and physical energy into keeping a straight face. "Lois Lane . . ."

She never knew what possessed her afterwards to say it, but before she could stop herself, she heard herself add, "Welcome to the Planet."

The double meaning would be clear only to him. Clark's mask faltered. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then lifted them again with a quiet, thankful smile that made her stomach flutter with joy_. _

"Glad to be here, Lois," he managed to say.

Lois returned his broadening grin, neither of them caring-at least for that brief second-who saw or heard or guessed.

* * *

**I had no idea what a "stringer" was before I wrote this chapter. ****It's really odd, the things I'll start reading about when I need answers. A few months ago I was researching the concept of hyperspace for the sci-fi novels I'm writing, and last week I was researching freelance journalism for my Superman fanfic. No shame, though, no shame...I learn something new everyday ;) **


	6. To Be Trusted

_"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved." _

_-George MacDonald_

_Meet me in the park after work. _

That was all Clark's text said. He'd spent most of the day with Steve, familiarizing himself with the office and the inner workings of the bull-pen. For once Lois was thankful for Steve's extroverted personality. It saved her and Clark an awkward situation of being alone together in the _Planet _building. She wasn't sure what she would've said to him in that case.

As soon as it was time for her to leave, though, she made a beeline for the recently re-opened city park. It was five o'clock and the sun would be nearly gone in about an hour. In any other circumstance, even Lois wouldn't have liked being in the park at that hour, not with the possibility of looters and ne'er-do-wells who still lurked through the recovering city at night.

_But I guess you don't have to be afraid of much when you're on your way to meet Superman, _she thought.

She entered the park and glanced around. The purplish twilight cast a sleepy, peaceful aura over the area, though the noises of reconstruction still thundered on all around it. A few people cut across the park on their way home from work, but for the most part it was almost empty.

Lois moved slowly, her arms crossed over her chest, looking over her shoulder. Part of her was afraid she wouldn't recognize Clark at a distance, he'd been so different at the office . . .

"Miss Lane?"

The deep, rich voice was unmistakable. Lois looked ahead and saw, a few yards away, Clark Kent sitting at a picnic table. He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees under the table. A book lay open before him and he was smiling.

Lois stood dumbfounded. Clark closed the book and moved to stand. The motion roused her and she quickly raised her hand to stop him. She hurried forward and sat down on the opposite side of the table, settling her computer bag on the bench beside her.

"Glad you could make it," he said.

Lois opened her mouth to speak, then lowered her eyes and laughed shakily. She covered her forehead with one hand.

"I'm glad you told me to expect you at some point," she muttered. "Otherwise I probably would've screamed to high heaven when I saw you."

"No, you wouldn't have," Clark said calmly. "You've got your head screwed on tight enough, you would've handled it beautifully."

Lois lowered her hand and leaned forward, keeping her voice at a whisper. "But-the _Planet_-a stringer? Is that why you were asking me all those questions about journalism a couple of weeks ago?"

He grinned. "Yep."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you," he said honestly.

"You did!" she laughed. "I love your new look. Who helped you perfect that?"

"Well, it was a joint effort between my mom and Perry-"

Lois almost fell off the bench. "Wait-Perry _knows?_"

"I didn't see how I could get away without telling him," he whispered. "Besides, I knew my secret was safe with him. He was the one who refused to publish your story because he was concerned it might throw the people of Earth into confusion. It could've been the biggest story the _Planet _ever ran, but he put principle over profit. That says a lot to me."

Lois smiled. "You're right. If Perry has given you his word of honor, you can bet he'll keep your secret."

Clark gave his dark head one slight, regal nod. Lois drew back with a frown.

"No, no, Clark, don't do that."

He looked startled. "Do what?"

"Don't nod like that." She imitated him. "Kings and princes and Kryptonian noblemen incline their heads like that-_not_ lowly stringers living from paycheck to paycheck."

Clark flashed her a broad grin. "I'll make a note of that, Miss Lane."

"And you're not slouching nearly enough. Come on, slouch like you mean it!"

He lowered his shoulders accordingly, looking more and more amused by the second.

"And don't look at me over the tops of those glasses," Lois said, snapping her fingers at him. "You're a nearsighted bookworm, remember? A nerd. You're a dork, Mr. Kent, and dorks are fastidious about their glasses."

"But not their posture?" Clark asked, teasing.

"Gosh, no," Lois said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Dorks never care about their posture."

With that, she reached over the table and pushed the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. That's when she heard it.

_He laughed. _Quiet, but warm and mellow and _happy_. Lois froze, still leaning over the table, and stared at him.

"I made you laugh," she breathed.

"It's not the first time," he said, smiling.

"But it's the first time _I've_ heard it."

"I hope it isn't the last."

She felt hot all over; she sat back, her heart pounding, and tried to change the subject. "So you're going to be a freelancer. Are you staying here in Metropolis?"

"I've rented a flat on Markham Street. I'll go home every other weekend. Now that I'm not a wanderer anymore, Mom wants to have me with her every chance she can get."

Lois tried to conceal her delight and relief. "That seems like a good arrangement. And even if there isn't some major world crisis, you can still help with smaller, simpler things, can't you?"

"I hope so," he whispered, with a cautious sweep of his eyes around the park. "I don't want to interfere much with the rebuilding. I expect people want to do their own work with their own hands. But I could still help out with a major wreck on the highway, or go to the Gulf Coast this summer for hurricane recovery, or even keep an eye and an ear out for terrorist activity. There's plenty for me to do, and now I'm not afraid to do it."

"Well, working at the _Planet _will give you the chance to catch all the breaking news stories," Lois said. "And I'll be glad to be working with you. Even though we won't really be in the same department, we'll still be colleagues-and I'm not the kind to look down my nose at the stringer pool, believe me."

He shrugged sheepishly. "I'll admit, part of the reason I wanted to work with the _Planet _was so I could see you more often."

She looked away, embarrassed and delighted.

"If we hadn't been writing these past six months, I probably wouldn't feel this comfortable with you," he added. "You don't want to know how shy I used to be around women."

"Including Chrissy?" Lois asked mischievously.

"Who?"

"The girl in the Vancouver bar where you used to work," Lois said. "I talked to her while I was tracking you down last year."

"I could count on my fingers how many words I said to Chrissy. She talked more to me than I did to her." He raised an eyebrow. "You sure did a lot of snooping, didn't you?"

Lois gave him an arch look. "I did an awful lot of snooping for the sake of my mystery man, believe you me."

Clark shook his head. "I had no idea what I was getting into when I first met you in that ship, did I?"

She laughed. "Ever wish you'd've ignored me?"

"Of course not," he said with such gravity, she wondered if he even realized she'd been teasing. "I didn't have any idea what I was getting into, but I don't want to try to get myself out of it, not now that that I've gotten to know you."

He reached over and clasped her hand before she could reply. "I want to take this slow. Heaven knows who's still watching you or who might give me a second glance if this disguise doesn't take-but you're the only person besides my mother who I know I can trust completely. I _want_ to be your friend, Lois. More than your friend. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Lois braced herself to meet his gaze. "Yes . . . I understand."

"Do you even want to pursue this . . . relationship?" he asked, frowning. "Beyond the emails, I mean?"

Lois squeezed his hand. "Yes-yes, of course I do. You didn't think I'd say 'no,' did you?"

"I wasn't sure," he admitted. "I've made your life a lot more complicated and this'll make it even more so."

Lois rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Well, what's a little more drama in my life after what happened in September? I think I can handle it."

* * *

He walked her home that evening and they talked all the way-but not about anything that would require secrecy. It was more the lively, cheerful conversation of two friends who've known each other a long time and felt the freedom to spar and tease and ask the oddest questions.

At her front door she turned and faced him, not sure exactly what to say or do. She'd never been walked home before. Oh, a few fellows had asked to do it, but Lois had always refused them. The level of her graciousness depended on whether or not she liked the guy or not. Clark looked awkward, as well, and slipped his big hands into his pockets.

"Well . . . I'll see you again soon," he said. "Keep up the emails."

And with that he moved as if to leave her front step. Lois reached out and grabbed his arm. It was solid with muscle. Clark flinched, and she suddenly realized it was the first time she'd ever taken the initiative to touch him. She wondered, too, if someone else's touch was something he'd avoided for years.

"Clark," she murmured, "I want to thank you for . . . for wanting to take this slow. I've never, umm, never been in a real relationship. With a guy."

"I'm surprised," he said, gently. "I would've thought-"

"Well, I've put up some pretty high barriers. I didn't want what happened to my parents to happen to me. This is the first time I've ever thought that maybe not every relationship has to end with both hearts broken . . ."

Lois ran a hand through her hair, trying to grapple with the emotions rising up in her chest. Clark took her hand.

"Well, I don't want to break your heart," he said. "You have my word on that one."

She forced a shaky smile in reply. He squeezed her hand, gave her one of his signature nods-she forgot to correct him-and turned away.

That night six months ago, when he'd kissed her goodbye, seemed very faraway. They were in a new phase, and he really was taking it slower.


	7. A Reason To Be Brave

**So glad y'all enjoyed the last chapter! This has been an interesting story for me to write because I'm trying to imagine how this relationship would develop over time...and there's _so_ much more than physical attraction going on here. I hope I managed to convey that in Chapter 6. **

**On a somewhat-related note, I finished watching the Dark Knight Trilogy last night! Now that I'm friends with Batman, I am SO PUMPED for the Man of Steel sequel. It also means I may end up bringing Batman into this story like I did for _The Girl of Two Worlds_, only this time I'd feel much more comfortable writing his character. We'll see what happens... ;)**

* * *

_You can't hide forever from the thunder_

_Look into the storm and feel the rain_

_-Josh Groban, "Brave"_

It was his first panicked fight to save lives, his first desperate race against time, since he fought Zod in the heavens. Clark clenched his teeth and thrust himself forward, willing himself to move faster, faster . . . he could see the plane making its plunge, right into the heart of a suburb about half an hour from Gotham's center.

His mind raced . . . how he was going to do this, where he was going to bring it, what to do about the fire . . . memories of the oil rig off the coast of Alaska . . . the fire curling around him, burning his clothes but barely making his skin tingle . . . the final explosion that knocked him unconscious.

He and the plane finally met. Bits of red-hot metal were breaking off and hurtling into the residential streets. Clark reached out his arm. His palm touched the plane's metal side. Quickly he grabbed it with both hands and twisted his upper body with an effort. The plane turned west, towards a less populated area.

His acute sense of hearing detected screaming inside the plane. He put all his strength into moving the plane fast-not too fast, lest he lose control of it-and in a descent. Hurry, hurry, they'll burn if you don't hurry . . .

The landing gear was already out; the pilot had been heading into the Gotham airport when the accident happened. Clark was grateful for that. It would help him land the plane. The burden was not quite as bad as the oil rig, but still significant; he felt his muscles crack under the weight and his blood pounded in his temples.

Finally his foot touched the short grass of the interstate median. Traffic screeched to a halt at the sight. Clark shot up off the ground, grabbed the plane's cabin door, and pulled. The locked steel groaned and gave way.

"Get the inflatable rafts!" Clark shouted into the smoke-filled plane. The terrified stewardess closest to the door immediately pressed a button that opened a panel full of the escape ramps. Clark grabbed one, activated it, held it firmly against the side of the plane.

"All right, now everybody out-quick and orderly!"

He kept an eye on the tail, the dread building in his gut as the frightened, soot-covered people began sliding out and onto the median. He couldn't take it any longer; confident that the ramp would hold, he darted to the back of the plane. Drawing back his fist, he made a hole in the side and peered in.

One panicked glance was enough. He drew away with a wave of horror and nausea. Back here, at least, he had been too late.

* * *

The next day, Lois held the phone at a safe distance from her ear. Her mother's voice was half-deafening, shrill with panic and grief.

"It's horrible, just horrible," Annie cried on the other end. Lois could envision her pacing the length of her penthouse, smoking cigarette after cigarette in her anxiety. "A hundred people on that plane, smothered or burned to death-and Laura Ramsey found in the back of the plane! Why the hell was she back there? She had to have flown first class, Lois!"

Lois tried to calm her. "Knowing Laura, I'm sure she was trying to help the people in the back of the plane. It's how she would've wanted to die."

"How would you know?" Annie snapped.

Lois took a deep breath and counted-rather too quickly-to ten. Annie always got like this when she was upset. Illogical to the extreme.

"I knew Mrs. Ramsey well," she said steadily. "She was a kind, sensitive woman, probably the only one in your Society who was more interested in social issues than in concert halls."

If Annie caught the subtle jab, she chose to ignore it.

"They're saying it was an explosion in the gas tank," she said, still sniffing. "A freak accident. This website here says it was 'an accident that could've been more devastating if Superman hadn't diverted the plane away from residential areas in the nick of time.' What I want to know is _how_ Superman knew about the plane in order to get there 'in the nick of time,' but _didn't_ get there in a short enough 'nick of time' to save the people in the back of the plane. Tell me that, Lois! You know him!"

"You're the one who told me to spend as little time as possible with him. I certainly haven't talked to him about this. I haven't even seen him since he helped with that pile-up on the interstate two weeks ago."

"I suppose all the focus will be on Superman now that he's made another appearance-and in Gotham City, no less."

Lois kept quiet. Anyone else would recognize there was no one to blame for an accident, but Annie Sarkwoski had to blame _someone._

"They already have themselves a superhero," Annie went on. "I shouldn't wonder if _he's_ miffed to find Superman in _his _territory."

"If the Dark Knight is anything like the people of Gotham say, I doubt he'd resent Superman saving lives in his city," Lois said dryly. "And if the focus does turn on him rather than on the victims of this accident, Superman will make sure it doesn't stay that way." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to head to work. Please, take it easy today. If you get a chance to call Mr. Ramsey, tell him I'm terribly sorry."

"Very well," Annie said, quieter now. "Are you going to Gotham-to the site?"

"No," Lois said. "I'm pretty sure one of our stringers will be reporting on it."

"Good," Annie said. "I don't want you anywhere near that crime-riddled city."

* * *

In spite of her mother's aversion to Gotham City, Lois would've raced to the wreck site if Perry had ordered her to do so. She never wasted time getting a story, but things were different now. She could all but count on seeing Clark Kent today, armed with an article on the wreck. The accident had been yesterday afternoon and reports indicated Superman had left the site by midnight, so he was probably back in Metropolis already.

The bull-pen crackled with excitement. The plane may have wrecked in Gotham but the death of Laura Ramsey, a well-liked philanthropist, made it a Metropolis story as well. Lois, however, was determined to keep the same cool head she'd tried to convey towards her mother. She went straight to work, going over the day's assignments with Jenny and the newest intern, a redhead by the name of Madeleine.

"Hey, Kent, heard you were in Gotham last night," Lombard's voice startled her.

Lois jerked her head up and saw Clark walking in. His eyes briefly fastened on her before turning, with his usual calm, to Lombard.

"Yeah, I made a late night of it, but I've got the story," he said. "Is White in?"

"Right in his office," Lombard said, adding in a teasing voice, "Need directions?"

Clark smiled-a little tiredly, Lois thought. "No thanks, I know the way. Hello, Miss Lane."

"Take your assignments and get cracking, you two," Lois addressed the interns. "Madeleine?"

She handed a folder to Madeleine with a scolding lift of her eyebrows. The young intern was staring at Clark in clear admiration. Even with the slouch and the glasses, he was still the best-looking guy in the room. Madeleine took the implied reprimand with a lowering of her eyes and hurried away; Jenny, used to Clark by now, was already halfway to her own desk.

"Nice to see you, Kent," Lois said nonchalantly. "Sorry you had to get such a nasty job."

Clark shrugged his bent shoulders. "Got to do what you've got to do."

"Did they get that plane moved off the median yet?" Lombard asked, curious.

Clark gave several vigorous nods. "Yeah, Superman moved it. I'll see you two."

"Good luck with White," Lombard said, waving him off. "Not that you need it. He likes your work better than any of the other stringers."

Clark smiled again and walked on, through the maze of cubicles. He pulled out his phone and started typing something with one thumb.

Lois waited a moment to put distance between them. A month of working together had left her paranoid about anyone finding out they knew each other beyond the office, and she wasn't about to let Lombard think she was following Kent.

She'd almost reached her own cubicle when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw she had a text from him.

_Can I see you this evening?_

She turned into her cubicle, about to text him back-and ran into Madeleine. Both women yelped and jumped back from each other.

"What are you doing in here?" Lois demanded sharply.

Madeleine was almost as red as her hair. She clutched her folder against her chest. "I, uh, I was looking for a stapler. Can't find mine."

Lois frowned, opened a drawer, and extended the stapler. "You're supposed to keep track of your own office supplies."

"Yes, ma'am, Miss Lane-"

"Bring it back to me as soon as you're finished with it and start looking for your own."

Madeleine mumbled her acquiesence and hurried away. Lois looked at her desk. Everything was clumsily rearranged. Lois followed Madeleine's progress to her own desk with narrowed eyes and texted Clark back.

_Come to my place at 6. I'll be waiting for you._

* * *

Clark walked up and down Lois' street several times before he decided to cross it and approach her house. He hadn't been here in a month, not since he dropped her off the day he'd made his first appearance in the bull-pen. Their secret dates were confined to the sprawling park or to a few small restaurants where neither of them would be easily recognized.

Tonight, however, he didn't trust what he had to say to any public setting.

He knocked on her door-three firm but controlled knocks. He heard Lois' quick, light steps on the other side of the door and the turning of the lock.

"Come in," she whispered. Clark squeezed his massive frame through the half-open door; she shut it again and pressed her back against it.

She was still in the professional-looking blue shirt and black slacks she'd worn earlier in the day, but now her coppery hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders. Her big eyes brimmed with concern. Clark had always thought she was uncommonly pretty; tonight, she was downright beautiful.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

Clark slammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. I had to talk to someone, that's why I wanted to come . . . and I didn't want to do it out in public."

"I understand." Lois straightened, motioned for him to follow into her kitchen. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"No."

"Well, good, because I picked up a couple of sandwiches from the store. I figured if you didn't want the extra one I could have it for supper tomorrow night."

Clark shook his head. "Don't let me mess up your meal plan-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Lois reached into the refrigerator. "Catch, Smallville!"

Clark held out his hands and she tossed him the boxed sandwich. He caught it, sat down at her table. She brought cups, napkins, her own sandwich, and sat across from him.

"I've got cookies, too. Do you like Oreos?"

He smiled a little. "I like them too much."

"Me, too," she said, biting into her sandwich. "When I'm feeling particularly blue-and if I'm not caring about what the scales will say-I like to drown my sorrows in Oreos and milk."

Clark raised his eyebrows. "I need a whole pack of Oreos and a gallon of milk, then."

Lois looked hard at him. "Tell me about it, Clark."

He forgot how many times she'd said that to him over the past month. Their conversations had been cathartic. She now knew all about his childhood terror of himself, his lingering guilt over Jonathan Kent's death, the nightmares that had started to plague him. Not even his mom knew about the nightmares. He didn't have them when he stayed overnight in Kansas.

"I failed, Lois," he said in a low voice. "I failed one hundred and two people yesterday."

She said nothing, just looked at him with those large, bright blue eyes of hers. Clark took a deep breath and continued.

"I had the television at my place on while I was writing an article. That's how I heard about the plane. I was in Gotham airspace in three minutes. I tried to move as fast as I could, Lois, I swear-"

"I believe you," Lois said.

Clark took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "But a hundred and two people died. I saw them. I was so determined to make up for all the lives lost in this city last year because of _me_-"

"Stop right there," Lois said, pointing a long slender finger at him. "That wasn't your fault and you know it."

"All right, fine," Clark said, his tone rising a little. "So the actual battle wasn't directly my fault. But you know I've gone back and forth . . . should I have taken the battle further away from the city, could I have lured Zod into space sooner than I did, would it have helped if I'd-"

"Clark." She dropped her sandwich and held up both hands. "This is useless to this particular conversation. I'm not going to argue with you about the battle. Go back to the plane."

"But I can't help carrying some of that guilt, Lois! And I wanted so hard to prove to people that I could save lives-dozens, hundreds of lives-and on my first test, I still didn't move fast enough."

"You're-not-God," Lois said, emphasizing each word. "You can't be everywhere all at once! Yes, one hundred and two people died. One of them was a friend of my mother's, probably the only friend of my mother's I actually liked. But Clark, do you realize how many people _didn't _die? How high do you think the death toll would've been if the plane had crashed in that neighborhood?"

She reached over the table and laid her hand over his. Every time she touched him, it always sent something like a charge of electricity through his whole being that then melted into a feeling of complete trust and security. Now it soothed his raw nerves and he felt his stiffened frame relax.

"Nobody expects Superman to save everybody in every situation," she murmured. "You're a symbol of hope and courage and nobility, not of a Pollyanna world where everybody is happy-go-lucky! If you've done your best and people still lose their lives, it's because it was meant to be and _you have to believe that_. You aren't held accountable for that and nobody blames you-unless, of course, you count a few spiteful individuals who ought to keep their big mouths shut."

She stroked his hand for a moment, then drew back and stood up. She left the kitchen and he heard her going upstairs. Clark was startled. He didn't know whether or not to follow her and finally decided Lois wasn't the kind to leave him in a huff. She'd be back.

His faith in her was quickly rewarded. Her quick footsteps sounded again on the stairs and she swept into the kitchen. Before Clark could ask her where she'd gone, she slammed a big book on the table in front of him.

"I want you to go home and read that," she said.

"_The Life and Words of Winston Churchill_." He looked up at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"Well, first of all, because Churchill will make you laugh, and you look like you need a laugh or two," she said. "Second of all, because I think Winston Churchill is the one person you could probably relate to. Someone who knew what he had to do and did it, even when it cost him or his country something precious."

Clark opened the book. It was old, he could tell. Lois laid a hand on his shoulder and rubbed.

"Thirdly," she said, in a quieter voice, "that book belonged to my dad. He was always quoting Churchill. There's one quote I remember . . . 'Success is not final, failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.' He said that all the time, especially after the divorce."

Clark looked up at her in surprise. Lois pressed her lips firmly together and nodded. "See if it doesn't give you some good ideas about how you're going to live your life, Clark. You can't live in fear of failure all the time. I won't _let_ you."

* * *

The nightmare hit him only a couple hours after he'd drifted to sleep.

The dream was always about the 24-hour fight against Zod, but the scenes varied. Sometimes he dreamed about Zod looming over his mother. In the dream, Clark never got to the scene fast enough. Other nights, he saw Lois falling out of the C-17, and again he couldn't get to her fast enough. And still, on other nights, he was grappling with Zod in the subway station again, but this time he agonized a second too long, and the young family against the wall was incinerated.

The combination of the plane wreck and his evening with Lois probably inspired the C-17 dream. He bolted upright in bed with a gasping, wordless shout. The suddenness of his waking made his x-ray vision flare up unbidden. Clark pressed his fists against his eyes and waited until he calmed to open them again.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned on the small lamp. The little room, sparsely furnished, came into view. Freelancing still didn't bring in enough money to fill his apartment very well, and most of this stuff came from his mom's.

But not the book on the short nightstand.

Clark grabbed the book and opened it. The first page was blank, but as he turned to the second one, expecting another blank sheet or a title page, he instead saw a quote. Poetry. Placed and printed as if it summed up the entire book. He stared at it, murmuring the words aloud.

_It is better to fight for the good,_

_Than to rail at the ill;_

_I have felt with my native lands,_

_I am one with my kind,_

_I embrace the purpose of God,_

_And the doom assign'd."_

_—Tennyson_

" 'It is better to fight for the good, than to rail at the ill . . . I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assign'd.' " He rubbed his eyes, thinking hard.

That was it, then. That was all he had to do. That, and to possess the courage to continue, no matter the cost, no matter the pain, no matter the successes or failures or in-between times.

_ I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned. _


	8. Superman Makes An Impression

**Couldn't find an appropriate quote for this one. Oh well. Hope y'all enjoy the latest chapter :)**

Jenny slammed her hands on the top of Lois' cubicle, her dark eyes wide with something that could only be described as gleeful horror. As for Lois, the suddenness of Jenny's appearance startled her so badly, she dropped the CD she was about to slip into her computer drive.

"Good grief, Jenny!" Lois cried.

"Guess what?" Jenny whispered.

Lois bent to retrieve her CD. "Umm . . . you and Lombard are seeing each other now?"

"No!" Jenny laughed. "What do you think I am, a loony?"

Lois wiped the CD on her sleeve. "Okay . . . Perry is giving you an extra vacation day."

"No," Jenny said, unimpressed by this suggestion. She entered Lois' cubicle and bent down to eye-level with her seated friend. "I saw Madeleine at Starbucks this afternoon-with a date."

Lois rolled her eyes. "I've never been so glad to see an intern get a day off. She drives me up the wall. But what's so important about Madeleine at Starbucks-"

"With a date," Jenny added importantly. "An _affectionate_ date. One who looked and acted like he'd known her a _long_ time."

By this time Lois' patience was wearing thin. "Cut to the chase, Jenny."

"Guess who her boyfriend is?"

"Umm . . ."

"Glen Woodburn!"

If Jenny had said "Lex Luthor," Lois couldn't have been more surprised. She stared at Jenny, unable to speak, while Jenny went on in a hushed but excited voice.

"I was on the other side of the restaurant and Madeleine had her back to me, so don't worry, she didn't see me. But it was obvious they've been steady for a while, just by looking at them. It makes total sense. You told me the other day you thought she was spying on you, so maybe-"

"She's been reporting to Woodburn," Lois finished. Her mouth felt dry. She hadn't caught Madeleine snooping again but she'd had the uncanny feeling several times since then that someone was rummaging around in her cubicle-often. Lois had even combed her desk for recording devices, fearful that the FBI might be monitoring her for information about Clark Kent.

_They_ wouldn't find anything, of course. She wasn't so careless. Any emails, voice mail, even a silly picture she'd taken of the two of them the other day-they never stayed on her laptop or phone very long.

But what had Madeleine seen or heard?

And even if she hadn't seen anything _here_ . . . what if she'd been shadowing Lois, or the quiet young stringer?

"I think you should talk to Perry," Jenny whispered. "If Madeleine is spying for Woodburn, she needs to be ousted."

"I know," Lois whispered back.

"You don't think he's still trying to get information about you and Superman?" Jenny asked, wrinkling her nose. "Isn't that old hat by now?"

"Glen Woodburn doesn't think so." Lois grabbed the phone on her desk and pressed one button. "Perry? Can I have a word with you in your office?"

* * *

This time it was Clark who got an urgent text from Lois while he sat in his apartment, writing up his latest piece for Perry White.

_Can I stop by your place real quick? _she wrote._ Need to talk._

He replied with a surprised affirmative and scrambled to tidy up his place. Like any bachelor flat it wasn't exactly in a pristine condition. His luggage from last weekend's visit to Kansas was still lying in a corner of the small hallway, while breakfast dishes lay forgotten in the sink.

By the time Lois knocked on his door, the apartment was halfway decent. She slipped inside, but peered up and down the corridor before letting him close the door behind her.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost." She put her hands on her hips. "Glen Woodburn is spying on me. A regular NSA agent, he is!"

Clark narrowed his eyes. "How do you know?"

"His girlfriend is Madeleine Enderman. You know, the little redheaded ditz who's interning at the _Planet_? Well, I've been worried she was rifling through my cubicle. I caught her at it nearly two months ago, but she said she was looking for my stapler so I let it pass. But I've been having a bad feeling for a while . . . like someone's been rearranging things, trying to put them back where they belonged but doing a poor job of it."

"You don't have anything in there about me, do you?" Clark demanded.

"No, no," Lois said quickly. "And Perry's going to make her go. But if Madeleine is Woodburn's girlfriend, and if she's spying on me for _him_-then he's still after me, and you by extension."

Clark exhaled. This wouldn't normally bother him-except that Woodburn was clearly trying to use Lois to get to him.

That made him angry.

No, not angry. _Furious._

"Do you have Woodburn's home address?" he asked.

Lois looked startled. "No, but it wouldn't be hard to find. Why?"

"I'm going to pay him a visit."

Her eyes widened. "You're not going to beat him up, are you?"

"Don't be silly," he said, smiling. "What do you think he wants most of all?"

Lois raised her eyebrows with a sarcastic look. "Probably for you and I to come out and quote Sonnet 116 to each other. On tape."

Clark frowned. "What does Sonnet 116 say?"

Lois blushed and waved her hand. "Look it up yourself, farm boy. No, in all seriousness, I'd say he wants to meet you. He probably thinks an interview or something would give his 'creeping cancer of falsehoods' some credibility."

Clark nodded. "Well, if Woodburn wants Superman, he'll get Superman-but it might not be what he expects."

* * *

Scaring Glen Woodburn late at night was far, far funnier than scaring Perry White. Clark had to fight back an outright laugh when he walked right through the open balcony door and into Woodburn's living room. The reporter was in the connecting kitchen and dropped a cup of coffee with a smash. Woodburn didn't even look at the mess. He just stared at Superman, mouth agape.

"Mr. Woodburn," Clark said. "I understand you've been wanting to see me for a while."

Woodburn stepped forward and slipped in the coffee puddle. He grabbed the kitchen counter and Clark bit the corner of his mouth to hide his amusement.

"I, uh, I don't recall asking for an interview-" Woodburn stammered.

"Not by normal methods, no. But hounding Lois Lane is certainly one way to get my attention."

Woodburn swallowed and adopted what he probably thought was a sauve demeanor. "Well, you know, we journalists do what we must to get a scoop. Even Miss Lane-"

"It's also a very _unwise_ way to get my attention," Clark interrupted sharply.

He took up a notebook lying on the counter near Woodburn. The reporter stiffened, reached for it, then drew his hand back quickly. Clark scanned the lined pages, saw they were full of notes with the names of "Madeleine" and "Lane" sprinkled throughout. There was no mention, however, of a stringer by the name of Clark Kent-not that he could make out, anyway, behind Woodburn's atrocious penmanship.

Clark finally flipped to a blank page and extended the notebook to Woodburn. The journalist took it with a shaky hand.

"The world knows that Lois Lane knows me very well," Clark said quietly. "What the world doesn't know is that I trust her completely. I owe her a debt and I'll defend her and her privacy tooth and nail. You can quote me on that in your paper-and keep a mental note of it yourself."

Woodburn snatched up a pencil and made a note. When he looked up again, Clark glared at him. It was a fearsome look, not one to take lightly.

"Stop spying on Lois Lane," he said, "and you can ask me any questions you want right now, so long as I reserve the right to use my own discretion in answering."

Woodburn lifted his hands. "I'll leave her alone. I get you."

"Good, because if I find out otherwise . . ."

Clark drummed his fingers heavily on the countertop. He really had no intentions of harming Glen Woodburn at all, not even if the man broke his promise-but Woodburn had no way of knowing that. All he knew was that a massively-built alien well over six feet tall was in his house, and judging from the way he treated a certain other alien in the subway station, you didn't want to mess around with him.

"Spy games are over," Woodburn said. "I swear."

Clark stepped back from the counter, satisfied, and even allowed a more friendly look to cross his face. "All right then. I'm at your disposal."

"Uh, could we possibly reschedule for tomorrow so I can prepa-"

"No," Clark said firmly, but not unkindly. He intended to keep the upper, authoritative hand in this situation. "If you want an interview you'll have to take it now. I'm not available at any other time."

* * *

A couple of evenings later, Clark's flat echoed with the sound of Lois' laughter. They sat on the secondhand couch in his small living room, Glen Woodburn's article between them. Lois was almost hysterical.

"I can't believe you did that to him," she gasped. "Cruel and unusual punishment, Clark!"

"I told you he was getting a Superman he didn't expect," he said, grinning.

"You weren't kidding me!" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still laughing. "He probably thought he was going to get this lighthearted interview about what it's like being in the public eye after almost thirty-four years under the radar. Instead he gets this-this _lecture_ on the consequences of biogenetics on your home planet and how we'd better not go down that road, and how it's all in _Plato's Republic_ if we humans would just take the time to look . . ."

"Well, it's true," Clark said a little defensively. "I read that in school and it fascinated me even then. Now I know why. It shows what happens under a tyrannical government just like the one my real parents suffered under on Krypton."

Lois nodded, trying hard to be serious. "I know, I know. But I highly doubt Woodburn even knew _Plato's Republic _existed. He certainly wouldn't know what it's about."

"So he got an education," Clark said, shrugging. "And maybe his readers will get one, too."

Lois handed the article back to him with a wry smile. "I haven't had such a good laugh since we watched those YouTube videos last week. You should email the link to your mom."

"I already did-she loved it." He watched her gather her laptop and purse, wanting to keep her here just a little while longer. "Did Perry fire Madeleine?"

"Yep. This was her last day. I looked straight at her and asked if she thought the _Spectator_'s interview with Superman was any good." Lois laughed again. "She turned almost as red as her hair and said she thought Superman was too cerebral for her taste. Imagine that!"

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm _terribly_ offended."

She simpered at him. "I'm just sorry you had to go through the torture of spending a whole evening with Glen Woodburn, just to get him to leave me alone."

"I hope it makes your life a little easier."

"Well, even if his good behavior doesn't last, at least you made an impression on him." Lois hesitated a moment, then stood on tiptoe and put her lips to his cheek. It startled him; he must've looked his surprise, for she laughed and squeezed his hand.

"Thanks again, farm boy," she said, and smiled affectionately at him as she left his apartment.


	9. Reconciliation

_Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment . . . _

_-Corrie ten Boom_

"I'm afraid Dusty has committed an indiscretion," Martha said, snapping beans on the front step. "Look at that dog. Does she look like she's carrying a litter of pups or what?"

Clark watched Dusty stroll across the yard and had to agree with his mother's suspicion. "Any idea who the sire might be?"

"Well, you know Pete Ross has a dog now-some kind of German Shepherd mix. Apparently she spent an entire afternoon with it in Pete's backyard. Heaven knows how she got in, but I'm not too keen on having some five or six puppies to feed."

Clark clapped his hands and Dusty quickened her pace. She climbed up on the porch steps and promptly sat down between him and Martha, laying one paw on Martha's knee as if to ask for clemency. Martha smiled slowly and shook her head.

"By the way, I'm still planning on coming back here next week for the Fourth of July," Clark said, changing the subject. "Provided there aren't any emergencies or anything like that . . ."

"Do you expect one?" Martha asked.

"If that disturbance out in the Atlantic turns into a hurricane, my help might be needed."

Martha nodded. "There's going to be a potluck at the church and fireworks after. I was hoping to go. It would be more fun than staying here by ourselves."

"That sounds good to me."

"Are you sure?" she asked pointedly.

Clark smiled. "I still won't play football after we eat, but I won't hang back from everything else like I used to. The idea of a potluck doesn't terrorize me anymore, not now that I know I'm not terrorizing everyone around _me_."

Martha reached over Dusty and patted his shoulder. "Well, good. I like that attitude."

She stood up with the bowl of snapped beans on her hip. Clark mustered up the courage to look up at her and put in a request.

"Lois Lane is taking the whole week off."

"Really?" Martha asked distractedly, brushing off her jeans.

"What would you say to inviting her down here?"

Martha looked hard at him for a moment, then withdrew her eyes and gazed sternly over the grassy field behind the house. Clark kept silent, scratching Dusty's back while he waited.

"I _want _to be friends with her, Clark," she finally said. "I just don't know that I . . ."

"What?" Clark prodded.

Martha ran her calloused fingers through the beans. "It's one thing for our neighbors to pretty much know your secret and not say a word about it to you or me. They've known you all your life. Miss Lane is a stranger. She's not from around here, she didn't watch you grow up, she doesn't know what we went through-what the whole _town_ went through . . ."

"But she's kept my secret for a whole year now," Clark said. "I trust her."

Martha swallowed. "I know, I know. It's just hard to get out of my mind that image of her coming up this porch asking about you. I'll never forget what it felt like, thinking that this reporter could completely wreck our lives."

Clark stood up and rubbed his mother's arm. "Well, then, just replace that memory with one of you and I standing on this same porch, seeing her run down the driveway to tell me there was a way to stop Zod. If it hadn't been for her, our lives really would've been wrecked."

Martha shrugged, nodded, smiled a little weakly. "I suppose she'd have to spend that vacation with that bossy mother of hers if she didn't come here, anyway. All right, Clark, ask her. I guess it's about time she and I met again."

* * *

"Oh, no, Clark-no, I couldn't do that," Lois said. She was on the phone with him, sitting on her couch and trying to polish up tomorrow's article. "A whole week? Your mother would be sick of me."

"No she wouldn't, I swear," Clark insisted. "Besides, what will you do with your vacation if you _don't_ come? Is your mom twisting your arm to come to some event or another?"

Lois grimaced at the accuracy of his guess. "Your deductions are uncanny, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Elementary, my dear Watson. What is it this time? A ball?"

"No, it's not quite that bad, thank God," she laughed. "Some friends of hers have invited her to spend the holiday with them. But they're also friends with Lex Luthor and he's going to be there . . . so the pressure is on for me to tag along, meet this powerful ball of charisma, and fall head-over-heels in love with him."

"Oh really?" Clark sounded suspicious.

Lois snorted. "No need to fear the competition, Smallville. I'm not crazy about anyone who's not crazy about you. And I've been rather spoiled by a boyfriend with a full head of hair."

He laughed out loud at that. Lex Luthor, while young and fairly good-looking, was totally bald.

"I really want you to come, Lois," Clark insisted.

"But does your mother?"

"Listen." His voice was so firm, he sounded more like Superman than Clark Kent. "My mom will be highly impressed if you come. It'll not only show her that you're brave enough to face her, but that you care enough about _our _relationship to reach out to her. She wants to be friends. She's just . . . shy."

Lois sighed. "Okay, but I want you to make a promise to me in case you're wrong."

"What's that?"

"If she can't stand the sight of me, you'll take me home. Right away. I don't care if you-um, whisk me away. I just don't want to make her miserable."

"It's a deal."

The call ended but Lois couldn't return to her work. The idea of spending the next week at the Kent farm was thrilling and disconcerting-thrilling because it meant a week with the man who was becoming her whole world, disconcerting because Martha Kent was still a formidable figure in her mind.

Clark had said Martha wanted to be friends but that she was "shy." What did that mean? Did Martha think of her as an intruder? But if a show of bravery could prove to her that Lois was worthy of her son . . .

Lois clenched her teeth and picked up her phone again. She dialed her mother's number and held her breath until Annie picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Lois said, trying to keep her voice carefree. "How are you?"

"Well, let me tell you about my day-" and Annie _did_. What followed was an eternity-or so it seemed to Lois-of complaints and triumphs, including the recap of a conversation with a fellow member of the most prominent musical society in Metropolis. Lois had no chance to speak for a good five minutes until Annie finally asked what she was up to.

"I need to talk to you about next week," Lois said.

"Independence Day-yes! Your vacation days are secure?"

"Yes, but . . . remember, Mom, I never did commit to going with you to the Marleys'. I told you I was thinking about it but I couldn't give you an answer just yet."

"Well, what will you do if you don't come? Sit up in that puny apartment all week long chasing plot bunnies for your Great American Novel?"

Lois fought to keep the irritation from her tone. "Actually, a friend of mine has invited me to spend the week with him and his mother in Kansas."

" 'Him?' _You_ have a boyfriend?"

"A shocker, I know," Lois said wryly. "It only took me thirty years to find one."

"Who is he?"

Annie actually sounded eager and interested, a good sign. Lois breathed a sigh of relief. "He's one of our stringers. He's a smart guy, Mom, one of the most talented freelancers around."

There was a stunned silence on the other end. Then came Annie's voice again, dull and slow.

"A stringer. You, a Pulitzer Prize winner, the _Daily Planet_'s finest reporter-going out with a _stringer_. How long have you known him?"

Lois stiffened and didn't answer the question. "Why does it matter if he's a stringer? He's a fine writer, better than half of the people on the _Planet _staff."

"For Heaven's sake, Lois, you could do better than that!" Annie cried. "You'd be better off with your alien."

Lois' grip tightened on her phone. "Ten months ago you all but ordered me to keep my distance from _him_. Now you're telling me you'd rather see me with him than with a hard-working reporter I've gotten to know over the past four months? What do you take me for?"

"A young woman in desperate need of some practical instruction in romance."

"Practical instruction!" Lois cried. "_You _of all people-_you're _going to give _me _instruction on romance? You, who left your husband high and dry because you were sick and tired of him? I'd rather take romance lessons from Henry the Eighth than you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Annie snapped. "I am your mother-you have no right to speak to me in that tone."

Lois snapped her mouth shut but felt her face growing hot; she pursed her lips and clenched her phone until her fingers hurt.

"I'm not going to make further judgment on this friend of yours until I meet him," Annie went on. "But I will remind you that you are a well-known, prize-winning journalist, and the daughter of one of the most culturally-influential women in Metropolis. Your talents should be combined with those of an _established _man, not some freelancer who probably doesn't even have a college degree. Do you follow what I'm saying, Lois Joanne?"

"Perfectly," Lois said through gritted teeth.

"Good."

"And I'm going to spend next week in Kansas."

"Lois-"

"If you need me, call my cell phone-but it had better be an emergency and you'd better leave a message. I'm not answering it otherwise." Lois' voice shook. "Goodbye, _Mother_."

She jerked the phone away from her ear before Annie could respond and ended the call. Then she plunged her hands into her hair and wrestled with pain from a thousand old heart-scars her mother had just ripped open.

* * *

Saturday came; she and Clark met at the airport and flew-on a plane, of course-to Kansas. Lois tried to write on the plane but couldn't keep her focus. She was too nervous. Finally she slammed her laptop shut and let out a long breath. Clark looked up from the book he was reading and looked at her with concern.

"Calm down, sweetheart," he murmured, patting her hand.

That didn't exactly help her calm down much, seeing as how it was the first time he'd called her by such a name-but she did grasp his fingers and squeeze tight, grateful.

A rental car waited for them at the airport and before long they were on one of those endless roads where Lois could see nothing but flat prairie and bright blue, cloudless sky. Lois rolled down the window on the passenger side. The air was hotter and drier than in Metropolis, but the wind blew hard and kept the temperature from feeling oppressive.

"Skyscrapers don't let you feel the wind very often," she said, gathering her hair up into a high ponytail. "It sure does feel good."

"I know," Clark said, smiling a little. "That's the only thing I haven't gotten used to yet in Metropolis. The closed-in feeling gets to me sometimes."

"At least _you_ can escape and fly around a bit to clear your head. The rest of us are bolted to the ground."

When they finally reached Smallville a couple of hours later, in the late afternoon, her anxiety was replaced by curiosity and delight. When she came here a full year ago looking for clues of her mystery man, she'd been fascinated by the little town. It reminded her of Mayberry, the main setting of the Andy Griffith re-runs she'd watched as a kid with her dad. He'd loved that show.

Even now, Lois half-expected to see Barney Fife prowling the streets. It had that same quaint, welcoming Americana atmosphere. The few buildings that hadn't been damaged in last year's battle looked like they'd been around since the 40's. Old men congregated in front of the barbershop to talk crops and cuss the weather. A white-painted church with stained glass windows boasted a large sign inviting the whole town to a Fourth of July potluck. American flags rippled on every streetlight.

"No need to disguise myself here," Clark said, taking off his glasses. "Put these in your purse, will you?"

"That's the gas station you and Zod plowed through, isn't it?" Lois asked, pointing.

"Well, that's the one that was built _over _the one we plowed through," Clark said. "Look, see that new asphalt up ahead? That's where they re-paved the road after the missiles pretty much blew out the old street. There's the new water tower . . . and the Sears is on this corner, coming up. It looks good as new, too."

Lois smiled mischievously at him. "I heard you slammed through the whole appliance section. Rather an undignified landing spot for Kal-El, don't you think?"

Clark shot her a playful glare and poked her in the ribs. Lois threw herself against the car door. "No! Don't you dare-not while you're driving."

"Yes, ma'am," was the teasingly obedient response.

Another stretch of prairie, and then a familiar driveway. A house up ahead. A black-and-white border collie barking, running alongside the car. Clark stopped the car several yards from the house, and he and Lois looked at each other.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Remember your promise. If she can't stand the sight of me-"

"I'll take you home. I haven't forgotten."

He squeezed her hand and got out of the car. She followed suit. Immediately the border collie pounced on him, then raced around the front of the car and laid her front paws on Lois' knees.

"It's all right, she won't bite," Clark assured her.

Lois ran her hand down Dusty's head. The dog seemed to accept her without question. At the sound of the porch door slamming, she could only hope Martha Kent would be as trusting.

The first time Lois met her, Martha Kent had only scowled at her in distrust and answered her questions in little more than monosyllables. The second time, she'd just been manhandled by Zod and therefore was hardly cheerful. This time she was so different, Lois had to take a second look to make sure it was the same woman.

Martha was probably in her late fifties, tall and spare; her layered, shoulder-length hair was greying and her face, while attractive and strongly-featured, was weathered. She wore blue jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. _That_ was all the same. What was different was that she smiled_._

Lois watched, hanging back, while Clark and Martha met and embraced. When Clark turned to face her again, she drew herself up and swallowed hard.

"Mom, this is Lois," Clark said.

"Goodness, Clark, I know who she is," Martha said, but with an indulgent cutting of her grey eyes at her son. She nodded her head towards Lois. "Nice to have you."

Lois stepped forward, clutching her purse strap with one hand until her knuckles whitened, while extending the other and hoping it didn't shake. "It's nice to be here, Mrs. Kent."

Martha took the proffered hand; her grip was strong, her palm calloused, and her grey eyes pleasantly calm. "Please, call me Martha. Come on inside, you must be tired and hungry after your trip. Clark, you need help with the suitcases?"

"No, you go ahead into the house," he said, waving them on. "I'll be inside in a minute."

Lois followed Martha onto the porch and into the farmhouse. It, too, was far different from the last time she'd been here; everything was freshly painted and had a clean, updated look about it. The warm, heavy smell of something in the oven permeated the small kitchen.

"I've put you up in the upstairs bedroom," Martha said, leading the way with long, confident strides. "Hope you don't mind heights."

Lois smiled. "No, heights don't bother me at all."

When Martha opened the door, the sight took her breath away. The room was small but fresh and bright, and the open windows allowed a magnificent view of the sprawling prairie to the south. The bed was covered by a white comforter, with a beautiful, old-looking chest at its foot. It captured Lois' attention and she wondered if it was locked.

"This is lovely," she said, running her hand over the edge of a painted dresser. "I haven't stayed in a room this nice since I was a little girl."

"Well, I'm glad you like it," Martha said, as if the compliment rolled lightly off her back. "I'll let you freshen up . . ."

Lois whirled. "Martha, I want to thank you for letting me come. I know . . . I know it might not have been the easiest thing for you to say 'yes' to."

Martha leaned against the open door. "You're right. It wasn't."

Her words were like a bucket of ice cold water on Lois' head, but only for a moment. Just when the dread was almost unbearable, Martha spoke again.

"But you know, there are things more important to me than my own pride-like my son down there." She gestured with her head towards the living room downstairs. "You don't know how much he wanted to bring you here. And you don't know how difficult I knew it would be to look you in the eye and apologize for the way I treated you last year when you came here asking some perfectly honest questions . . ."

Lois almost sank to a seat on top of the chest, she was so relieved. "Well, I'm sorry, too. I know I made a pretty awful first impression."

Martha's face softened. "You didn't know any better."

_That's true, I really didn't. _Lois extended her hand again, and this time Martha clasped it with an amused, gentle smile. It wasn't a handshake. It was a gesture of mutual acceptance and forgiveness.

How odd . . . to reach over a wide gulf of mistrust and clasp hands with Martha Kent so soon after her own mother had widened the distance between them.

* * *

That evening, as Lois headed upstairs for bed, Clark stopped her at the foot of the stairs. "A word, Miss Lane?"

She turned, smiling a little. "Yes, Mr. Kent?"

Clark settled his weight on one leg and cocked his head at her, arms folded over his chest. "Want me to take you home now?"

Lois cut her eyes at him. "You really are impossible sometimes."

Clark laughed, turned down the hallway towards his own room. "I won't say 'I told you so,' but . . . I told you so."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Goodnight, Superman."

"Don't call me that."

Lois shot him a playful look over her shoulder. "Then don't say 'I told you so.' "

* * *

**There'll be one more chapter in Smallville, and then we start getting into some suspense and intrigue! The story is progressing well on my end and my muse gives me little rest...and I do think I'm going to tie in a little bit of Batman/Lex Luthor stuff after all. But it's all from my own imagination; I'm not even trying to imagine the plot for the new movie. That's the beauty of fanfiction-you do what you want ;) Hope y'all are still enjoying the story! **


	10. Pain That Cannot Forget

**Okay, I miscalculated what I'd already written (because I'm actually up to Chapter Thirteen in my writing-great progress!). There are actually two more Kansas chapters, this one and the next one-and _then _comes mystery and intrigue and a whole new phase of the Clark/Lois relationship (*squeal!*). And I'm probably going to start watching _Man of Steel _again for the fifth time tonight, so yeah, I'm a total goner for these lovely characters ;)**

* * *

_". . . pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despite, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."_

_-Aeschylus, "Agamemnon"_

The next day Martha Kent appeared in church with her son and a very pretty young woman with keen blue eyes and a headful of hair the color of a newly-minted penny. If some of the most faithful parishioners found it difficult to pay attention to the sermon, they couldn't be blamed much. The sight of the newcomer was just too interesting.

Clark made a point to ignore the increased scrutiny. He could sense Lois doing the same, but she wasn't nearly as comfortable about it. Of course she wasn't. She hadn't spent thirty-three years, like he had, avoiding the curious looks of anybody who wondered at his strength or build.

She sat ramrod-straight in the pew with her eyes bolted on the minister and her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Clark discreetly touched her fists with his fingertips. Lois glanced at him and he gave his head the slightest of shakes. She didn't lose her dignified posture, but her fingers did loosen a little and she leaned back against the pew.

After church, she was soon surrounded by the kindhearted but intrigued citizens of Smallville. This time, however, Lois' confidence seemed to be on the rise. Clark watched her out of the corner of his eye while he stood with some of the other men in front of the church, and was glad to hear her laughing and talking with Pete Ross' mother, Gloria.

"Once the hurricane hits, we'll send the relief bus down to the Gulf Coast," Clark heard the minister saying. "Those poor people down there . . ."

"As if they hadn't had enough, after last year," another man grumbled. "It's been a bad couple of years for them. Say, Clark, I hear you're a reporter now. You gonna cut your vacation short to report on the disaster area?"

Clark shook his head. "No, I'm just a freelancer, I don't answer to an editor's beck and call unless he specifically asks for me. When is the hurricane supposed to hit?"

"They're predicting the fifth," the minister replied. "It'll be a grim Independence Day for the Southern states."

Clark nodded casually, as if he hadn't already owned this information. He hadn't taken his eye

off the weather forecast ever since the hurricane came close enough to North America to pose a threat. It was the first hurricane season where he was free to do something about it . . . but he had to admit, he was glad it wouldn't come until after the Fourth.

* * *

Martha had to go to work the next morning. The warm mugginess of the air promised a fair but hot day. Clark walked with his mother to the pickup, leaving Lois in the kitchen at her own insistence.

"I'll take care of the dishes," she'd said, tying one of Martha's aprons around her own waist. "I'll have it done in no time."

"I hate to leave you with it . . ." Martha said worriedly.

"Don't worry about it," Lois said with a smile and a toss of her head as she plunged her arms into the sudsy sink. "Have a good day, Martha. I'll try to keep Clark out of trouble."

Now, approaching the pickup, Clark heard the concerned note in his mother's voice as she spoke: "What are you going to do with her today?"

"I'm going to take her around the whole farm this morning, before it gets too hot," he said quietly. "She told me she needs some time this afternoon to write, though . . . so I'll clean out your gutters then."

Martha frowned up at him. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I'll take her into Smallville. Gloria Ross told us yesterday at church to drop by if we could. I think she took a liking to Lois."

Martha opened the pickup's door. He offered his hand; she took it and hoisted herself into the truck with surprising agility for her age. "All right . . . so long as you two stay busy and don't get into any trouble . . ."

Clark suddenly understood, and he grinned wryly at her. "Mom, don't worry. I've spent hours at her apartment in Metropolis and we haven't done anything you'd disapprove of yet. We aren't going to start now."

"Promise?" Martha asked, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.

He met her gaze steadily. "I'm not taking _that_ step unless she's mine for keeps. I swear."

Martha slammed the pickup door shut; the window was rolled down, however, so she could keep talking. "All right, then. I'm just checking on you . . ."

"Do you like her?" he asked eagerly.

Martha's smile deepened. "She has just the right combination of trying to impress me and being herself." Her eyebrows suddenly furrowed. "You didn't _tell_ her to impress me, did you?"

"Well, not exactly," he said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I did tell her that if she came, it would show you that she took our relationship seriously enough to meet you. She was pretty scared of you at first."

Martha looked nonplussed and turned the key in the ignition. "A girl who all but faced off General Zod should not be scared of a cantankerous old woman."

"The woman who told General Zod to go to hell shouldn't be afraid of an inquisitive young reporter," Clark retorted.

Martha let out a shocked, laughing exclamation and reached through the open window to swat at his head. Clark ducked with a laugh. He held Dusty back by the collar while Martha turned the truck down the long, dirt road to the highway, then released the dog and went into the house.

When he pulled open the screen door Lois still stood at the sink, scrubbing a skillet. She gave him a rueful look. "I might not be able to cook worth a flip, but at least I can clean up my mess."

"Oh, your eggs weren't too bad," he said, grinning.

"I scorched them."

"And I still ate them."

Lois blew a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "Oh, Clark, you'd eat _anything_."

He watched her a moment, liking the sight of her biceps flexing beneath her short sleeves and that long, wavy strand of ginger hair drifting in front of her eyes. Handing her the last dirty plate from the table, he gently tucked the troublesome hair behind her ear.

"Thank you," Lois said, slipping the plate into the dishwasher. "I'm almost done here . . ."

"We can dry the dishes later. Come on, I want to take you for a walk. It's about time you saw where I grew up without Kryptonian invaders to interrupt us, like last time."

Intrigued, Lois hastily put away his mother's apron. Dusty trotted alongside as they left the front porch and entered the open yard. She'd already seen the barn, of course, and the now-empty cellar where Jonathan Kent had kept the round baby shuttle. Clark grabbed her hand and drew her to the south field.

"This isn't grass, is it?" Lois asked, running her hand over the top of the high green stalks.

"No, it's hay," he answered. "Mom rents out this field to old Mr. Tom Ross, Pete's dad. In October they'll harvest the hay and sell it, and Mom will get part of the money."

"What did you want to show me in here?"

Clark allowed his vision to zoom through the green curtain to the ground beneath. He found what he was looking for and led her towards it: a bowl-shaped dip in the ground where the hay wasn't nearly as high or healthy-looking, as if the soil there wasn't as nutrient-dense. Tiny spots of purple, however-violets-grew in the shorter grass.

"Remember the baby shuttle?" he asked quietly. "This is where it landed."

Lois stared at it, amazed. She released his hand and stepped into the dip, measuring it with her eyes, then sat down in it. She squinted up at him in the bright morning sun.

"Did they find you in the day, or the night?" she asked.

"Night," Clark said, remembering the day his parents sat him down and told him the whole story in the living room. "They thought at first the little ship was a meteorite-and then when they found me they thought I was some kind of Soviet experiment. The Cold War was still going on at the time."

Lois nodded thoughtfully. "And what happened after that? Did they take you to the doctor, to the police-what?"

He shook his head. "No, they said they just took me in and waited for someone to come for me. By the time they realized no one was ever going to come, they'd already decided they wanted to keep me."

He sat down on the edge of the dip, but not in it. Even as a boy, he hadn't been able to bring himself to get into the very spot where he first landed on Earth. An unconscious need to keep himself firmly in _this_ world always kept him on the edge.

"Do you ever wish you still had the little ship?" Lois asked. "It was the only thing you had left from your planet."

Clark ran a blade of grass through his fingers. "We had to use it. You told me my father said so. The only thing I still wish I had was the command key."

"Well, you had to give that to me, too," Lois said briskly, obviously not wanting to think too long about the harrowing moment when he slipped it into her hand behind Faora's back.

"It took me weeks to remember it was gone," he said. "After all, I wore it around my neck for twenty-one years."

"Because you wanted something of your real parents close to you?"

"Yes . . . without knowing who or what they were."

Lois nodded towards the house. "You know . . . there's a chest in my room. My curiosity got the better of me last night, after you and your mother went to bed . . . and I peeked in it. It wasn't locked."

Clark stared at her, surprised. "What was inside?"

"Photo albums on top, and some old quilts." Lois shot him a sly smile. "I stayed up far too late looking at one of the albums. You were a very cute little boy."

Clark chuckled. "Thanks. What else did you find?"

Now Lois' eyebrows drew together a little. "At the very bottom of a chest, underneath all this other stuff, there was a cardboard box. I opened it up and found a blanket and a baby dress."

"That's all?"

"That's all. The baby dress is so cute-yellowed from age, but still pretty. The blanket, though . . ." Lois looked hard at him. "I don't think it was made by anybody on this planet, Clark. It looks like your cape-but it's silvery, not red."

His curiosity piqued, Clark glanced at the nearby house and the window of the upstairs room. He stood up. Lois followed him back into the house and up the stairs without a word.

Clark got down on his knees beside the chest and pulled out the photo albums and old quilts. He laid the cardboard box on the floor and opened it; Lois lifted out, with care, the yellowing baby dress with the pink skirt and lace hem, while he took up the blanket.

Unlike the dress, it showed no signs of age. Lois was right; it had the same texture as the red cape and was just slightly thicker. He stared at it, rubbing it between his fingers . . . imagining his real mother touching it long ago, wrapping him in it, tucking it around him before she sent him away. _Lara_, Jor-El had called her. Lois watched him keenly.

"Did you not know about this?" she asked.

"No," Clark murmured. "My dad gave me the key. I didn't know anything about the blanket."

Lois looked worried. "If Martha didn't want you to know about it-"

"She wouldn't have left this chest in here if she didn't trust you with it. She had to know you might not leave it alone." He clenched the blanket in his hands. "Did you look at all of the photo albums?"

"No . . ."

"Well, look now," Clark said, taking up one of the larger ones. He went to the back of it and pulled an envelope from the pocket. "These are the results of the chemical tests my dad asked Kansas State to run on the key. They told him it wasn't made of any known rock on this planet.

And look at this."

He pulled another folded paper from the pocket. "The results of the only blood test I ever had, done when I was six months old. They couldn't determine my blood type. At all. My parents never took me back to the doctor after that."

Lois stared at the papers, then at the blanket, then at Clark. She blinked hard, shook her head. "I've known all this long time I was in the presence of an alien. Sometimes it just hits me right between the eyes all over again."

Clark winced. "It's uncomfortable for me, too. I don't _feel _like an alien-most of the time I don't, anyway. But then, I don't know what it feels like to be a human, either."

"Yes, you do know," Lois said softly. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have saved us all."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Lois laid the baby dress back in the box but he held onto the blanket. "I want to ask her about this tonight."

"No, Clark, don't," she begged. "She'll be furious with me."

"If she is, then she's being unreasonable-and my mom _isn't_ unreasonable," Clark said firmly. "Besides . . . I want to know about that baby dress. I wonder where it came from."

* * *

He didn't wait for Lois to go to bed to confront his mother. The two women were in the living room chatting that evening when he came in from his own bedroom with the blanket in his hands. Immediately Martha stopped mid-sentence and stared, shocked, at him.

"Is this what I think it is?" Clark asked quietly, gently. He didn't want her to think he was angry at her from withholding it.

Martha glanced sidelong at Lois. "So . . . which of you went digging in that trunk?"

"I did," Lois answered meekly.

"But I went up with her and looked for myself this morning," Clark added. "If you didn't want her to look in the chest, Mom, you should've locked-"

"Who says I didn't want her to look?" Martha cut him off, her voice slow and quiet. "Maybe I was hoping she would."

Clark and Lois stared at her. Martha held out her hands towards him, and he laid the blanket in her palms. Her strong fingers closed over it and she gazed wistfully at the thin golden threads racing through the silver cloth.

"You were on top of this blanket when we found you. You didn't have a diaper on, though, so I had a time trying to get a few stains out of it." Martha rubbed the edge of the blanket, her grey eyes thoughtful. "But as soon as I had it clean, I hid it away. We were so frightened you'd be taken away from us . . . we didn't want anything lying around the house that might be recognized as . . . as . . ."

"Alien?" Clark offered.

Martha shrugged, as if to say, _Good enough_. "When Jonathan gave you the key or talisman or whatever you want to call it, I thought about showing you the blanket. But you were so overwhelmed by what you'd just learned, I thought it would be better not to. And then . . ." She gulped. "I was afraid the blanket might make you think of your real mother, the way the key made you want to know your real father. I was selfish . . . I didn't want you to leave me."

Clark knelt in front of her and laid a hand on her knee. Martha put her own hand over his and patted it gently.

"I'm sorry, Clark," she murmured. "Do you want to keep it for yourself?"

He forced a smile. "What would I do with it in Metropolis? You keep it. I'm just glad I still have _something _from my parents, even if it's just a little blanket."

"Blankets don't carry the same sentimental value for a young man like a fierce-looking key, do they?" Martha asked dryly. She looked at Lois again. "If you found the blanket you must've found the dress."

Lois nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Martha said with an amused smile. "You're the most inquisitive young woman I've ever known. Someone as smart as you wouldn't be the kind to ignore a possible mystery, right?"

Lois blushed and laughed. Martha sat back, still stroking her son's hand. "My mother made that dress. Actually, she made a pink dress and a little blue suit."

"For me?" Clark asked, confused. He barely remembered his adoptive grandmother; she'd died before he was six years old.

"No-for _my _baby."

Clark jerked back in surprise. Martha drew herself up and met his startled gaze.

"A couple of years before Jonathan and I bought this farm, we had a little one of our own. A girl. She was premature, and that was back in the late 70's. They didn't have the technology then to save her, not like they do now."

Martha closed her eyes and took a deep, bracing breath. "She was too tiny to bury in that little dress, so I just kept it. The blue suit ended up being the only baby outfit I had in the house when we found you. Thank God I had _something _on hand."

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Clark asked, stunned by her secrecy.

"Maybe because it was too hard to talk about," Martha said quietly. "But the good Lord gives and he takes away. He took away my little Claire Elizabeth but he gave me you, so . . . who am I to complain?"

_I embrace the purpose of God and the doom assigned . . . _the words from the book Lois gave him weeks ago suddenly came back like a flash of lightning. That calm, humble acceptance of whatever life threw at you-his mother had it, just as Lois did.

He wondered what else he would learn about her-and himself-as the years progressed.


	11. Starlight

_Oh my, what a marvelous tune_

_It was the best night, never would forget how we moved_

_The whole place was dressed to the nines,_

_And we were dancing, dancing_

_Like we're made of starlight, starlight..._

_Like we dream impossible dreams_

_-Taylor Swift, "Starlight"_

Lois heard a knock on her bedroom door, followed by a deep, masculine voice: "Lois, you ready?"

"Just about," she called. She gave herself one last critical glance in the mirror, smoothed her dress-probably the most girly thing in her entire wardrobe-and opened the door. Clark was waiting with his hands in his pockets and his head down; he looked up and his face brightened.

"You look great," he said, his blue eyes inspecting her from head to sandaled feet.

Lois reddened and glanced away, shutting the door behind her as she did so. "You look nice yourself. Never seen you in a white shirt."

He smiled sheepishly. It was true; he hardly ever wore anything that couldn't hide the suit he almost always wore underneath. Here in Kansas, however, the suit remained hidden somewhere and she didn't ask where. She didn't want him to feel any pressure, not in the only place where he could really be himself.

Besides, he'd have to wear it tomorrow. The Gulf Coast was expecting that hurricane to hit in the middle of the night. Clark would be gone before eight o'clock tomorrow morning.

When they arrived at the church, Lois let him help her out of the back seat of the pickup and glanced around. The parking lot was full of people-strangers mostly, but she glimpsed a few familiar faces from her outing on Sunday.

"We'll bring the cake over here to the table, Lois," Martha said, holding the white plate with a magnificent three-layered confection atop it. "Clark, go help them set up those tables over there. Looks like they could use another pair of hands."

"Yes, Mom," Clark said with a wink in Lois' direction.

Children ran around playing games; women set the tables and men prepared the field behind the church for a game of football. Martha nodded in their direction. "We have a bad competitive streak in this town. I wouldn't get tangled up anywhere near that game if I were you. Hello, ladies!"

Several women gathered around a table loaded with food greeted Martha warmly. Martha, however, didn't forget Lois; she reached over and all but pulled her into the circle.

"This is Clark's girlfriend, Lois. Lois, this is-" and she rattled off names Lois quickly tucked away into her memory bank. One name and face, at least, was familiar: Gloria Ross. She stepped forward and took Lois' hand with a firm, warm clasp.

"I'm so glad you were able to come. Yes, set that right over there, Martha, and we'll slice it up in a minute. This is my daughter-in-law Ellen-I don't believe you met on Sunday."

"Nice to meet you," Lois said, shaking hands with a young, pretty woman about her age. Ellen Ross, her stomach swollen with pregnancy, smiled and returned the greeting.

"Tell me, Miss Lane, have you ever been to a potluck before?" Gloria asked.

Lois laughed, glancing around again. "No, I'm afraid not. I grew up an Army brat and never really spent much time with other families except the ones in my father's company."

"Oh, your father is in the Army?" one of the other ladies asked, curious.

"He _was_," Lois answered, trying not to let her voice fall. "He's, umm, no longer with us."

The angry shouting and crying of two children saved them all from an uncomfortable silence. A small, redheaded child catapulted towards them, hotly pursued by a boy about her own age. Both were smeared with dirt and grass stains; the little girl was crying.

"He won't let me on the football field, Mommy!" the little girl sobbed, throwing herself against Ellen's legs.

"Girls _can't_ play!" the little boy shouted angrily. "Them's the rules and have always been the rules-and when I tried to get her off the field she knocked me down!"

"Goodness gracious, Juliet!" Ellen cried, aghast.

"You can't play football anyway, Juliet, now stop all that crying," Mrs. Ross scolded gently.

"But I _can_!" Juliet wailed, rubbing her dirty face in her mother's skirt. "I can catch the ball as good as anybody-"

"And you'll be trampled, little one," Martha Kent said, bending to eye level with the child and wiping her face with a gentleness that impressed Lois. "This won't be a game between people your own age. It'll be grown men and they'll be bound and determined to win and half-kill each other in the process."

Juliet responded to Martha's voice by peeking out of her mother's skirt with a sorrowful but no longer infuriated expression. She clearly trusted Martha's opinion, but she was distracted from her woes when she made eye contact with Lois. Curiosity slowly crept into her small face and Lois felt pity and understanding stir in her own heart.

"Maybe," Lois ventured, "maybe Juliet would rather help me set that last table over there."

"There now, you see, Julie?" Ellen soothed. "Why don't you help Miss Lane and make the table pretty? Here, take these little American flags, they go in the middle . . ."

Martha shot Lois a grateful look and handed over a box of plastic utensils. Juliet tiptoed away from her mother and fell into step with Lois to the empty table decorated only by a red, white, and blue tablecloth. Lois watched discreetly while the little girl, still sniffling a little, set the flags upright in plastic cups and placed them along the length of the table.

"So," Lois began, "how old are you?"

"Six," Juliet said, glancing shyly up at her. "But I'll be seven in April."

Lois smothered an amused smile and laid out the plastic forks. "You know, when I was six I got into my fair share of tussles with boys my age."

Juliet's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yep," Lois said, carefully avoiding the child's gaze and speaking as casually as possible. "I didn't have very many friends growing up because of my dad's work, but the ones I did have were mostly boys. If they tried to shut me out of their fun, it made me furious."

"So what did you do?" Juliet asked.

"I wiped up the ground with them," Lois said, darting a mischievous grin at her. "After one of those fights, though, my dad told me that if I had that much energy I'd better channel it into something less destructive. So you know what he had me do?"

Juliet shook her head slowly.

"He started giving me archery lessons," Lois said. She held out her arms as if holding a bow with an arrow fitted in the string. "It might not have been the most girlish hobby but it kept me out of trouble-and it was something I really enjoyed doing."

"Do you still do it?" Juliet asked eagerly. "We play cowboys and Indians sometimes and I like to be the Indian, 'cause I get the bow and arrow and that's cooler than a gun."

"I don't have one right now," Lois admitted, "but I could probably get one. Maybe if I come back to Smallville I'll teach you how to shoot."

Juliet's face lit up. She suddenly waved at someone behind Lois. "Hi, Daddy!"

Lois turned and found herself face-to-face with Pete Ross. He was coming towards them, the surprise clear in his face. Lois stepped towards him and boldly held out her hand. Here, at least, was someone she knew from a previous visit to Smallville.

"Well . . . long time, no see," she said with a significant lift of her eyebrows.

He chuckled. "My mother told me you were in town. I wondered when we'd run into each other again." He glanced at Juliet, who was busy arranging the flags again. "Are you enjoying yourself here?"

"Yes, very much."

"When do you leave?"

"Saturday evening. I have to be back at work bright and early on Monday morning."

Pete nodded slowly and lowered his voice. "I want to thank you for not publishing your story about Clark Kent last year. I, umm . . . I hope you won't ever quote what I told you about the school bus."

_Oh! _Lois thought in surprise. _He knows. He knows about Clark. _

"Don't worry," she said in a confidential whisper. "I destroyed all my notes for that story."

"Good. I mean, it's good that you erased the tracks." Pete glanced around. "And I want to thank you, too, for whatever it is you've done to him."

Lois cocked her head, smiled a little. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the Clark Kent I knew for thirty-something years was quiet as a church mouse. He was smart as a whip, we all knew that, and a nice guy, real nice . . ."

Pete glanced over his shoulder and Lois suddenly saw Clark now standing at the food table with his mother and Gloria Ross, a broad smile now and then breaking out over his face as he listened to their conversation.

"He's come out of his old shell, I think," Pete went on. "I'm guessing we all have you to thank for it."

"Well, I don't know that I deserve all the credit," Lois said quietly. "I think when a man is absolutely sure of his purpose in life, it makes all the difference."

Pete smiled, and she knew he understood.

* * *

After the meal, Clark sat down in one of the fold-up metal chairs. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes focused intently on the men getting ready for the football game.

"Are you going to play?" Lois' voice startled him. He looked over his shoulder and saw her coming towards him with a spring in her step and a merry light in her cornflower-blue eyes. Clark shook his head.

"I don't want to put anyone at an unfair disadvantage."

Lois leaned down so she could whisper. "You could hold yourself back."

Clark gave her a wry look. "I'd rather not try."

Lois didn't press him. She merely stood beside him, rubbing his shoulder gently. That was how they were when Clark noticed Juliet Ross wandering by, carrying a paper plate loaded with cake. Her round face was smudged with chocolate.

"Pete's little girl," he said. She was born during one of his wanderings, but he'd glimpsed her for the first time during an in-between time, when he drifted back to Smallville. He couldn't believe she'd sprouted so much.

"Isn't she precious?" Lois remarked. "Hey there, Juliet. How's the cake?"

Juliet grinned and trotted towards them. "Yummy! Look, see over there? They're going to have a dance for anyone who doesn't want to play football. My daddy said he'd dance with me since Mommy's too fat right now with the baby."

"You'd better not let your mother hear you talk like that," Clark said, grinning at her.

Juliet made no verbal response, and instead hoisted herself onto his knee without any warning or request whatsoever. Delighted by her trust in him, he set her in a more comfortable position and gently bounced her up and down. Juliet kept her balance perfectly, her gaze focused not on the football field but on the men marking off the dancing area near the food tables.

"Do you want to dance?" Clark asked abruptly.

"Are you talking to me, or to Juliet?" Lois asked.

He chuckled. "Juliet just told us she already has a partner."

"Oh!" Lois flushed, smiled, then assumed a coy manner. "Do you even know _how_ to dance?"

"No, not really, but you could teach me." Clark twisted his leg to the side and Juliet shrieked, barely maintaining her balance now. He laughed and set her on her feet again. "Come on, I'll escort you both to the dancing floor."

"If you're going to step all over my toes, I don't want to dance with you," Lois said.

Clark shot her a look as if to say, _I don't believe you_, and took her hand and Juliet's.

At least they weren't playing old-fashioned country dance tunes; someone had a stereo going and a country music station was playing. Juliet went to her father and the alien and the reporter faced each other. Now that he was at this point, he felt awkward and unsure of himself. A slow smile crossed Lois' face and she smoothed her dress a little self-consciously.

"Okay, look, this is simple . . . " she began.

"Do _you _know how to dance?" Clark teased.

"More than you do, I imagine. I put my hand on your shoulder and yours goes here on my side . . . yep, that's right, and our other hands are out like this . . . there won't be any steps, not with this kind of music, we'll just go with the beat."

She moved to the side and, for now, led the dance. Clark moved hesitantly, light-headed at the realization that he was holding her in his arms for the first time in almost a year to focus much on the music.

"It's all right," Lois murmured. "Relax. You're not going to step on my feet. And even if you did, I'd probably forgive you pretty quick."

He smiled, amused, and suddenly took control. She was going where he wanted her to go, still at a slow pace at first, then more quickly and confidently. He lifted her hand high and twirled her around. She gasped in surprise. Someone cheered and he looked up to see Martha on the sidelines, clapping along with the music and beaming at the sight of her son on a dance floor.

"My mom is cheering us on," he said. Lois' color deepened. Clark decided to take a risk and added, in a quieter voice, "Maybe this is what Pete Ross was talking about, when he told you Clark Kent had come out of his shell."

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "How did you-"

"I heard him," he said, smiling. "You should know by now I'm a consummate eavesdropper."

He twirled her again; this time she was expecting it and moved with surprising grace. When he drew her up against him again, she met his eyes. The tenderness and trust in them took his breath away, and he took a second risk.

"Pete was right, though," he said, looking intently at her. "I have you to thank for it."

* * *

The ride back to the farmhouse was subdued, but happy. Lois' heart still felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, after Clark's words to her during the dance. He said very little, but his eyes were soft and thoughtful. And Martha-good, dear Martha-respected their need for quiet, even if she didn't understand whatever had passed between them.

Except, maybe she _did_ understand. At least to a certain extent.

Lois was already in her bedroom and had just released her hair from its ponytail when she heard Clark knock on her door. Startled, she opened it just a crack.

"Can you come outside?" he asked. "I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"Just come see."

Lois stepped out, running her fingers through her hair, and followed him downstairs and onto the porch. Under the stars and a considerable distance from the house, they stopped.

She waited, expectant. Clark gazed up at the stars in silence.

"Why are we out here?" she whispered, but was suddenly cut off by a distant explosion and a burst of color in the sky, reds and whites and blues. She jumped and Clark grinned.

"That came from the Kelsey place," he said, pointing. "Now watch, watch . . ."

Another firework went off, this time in the opposite direction, louder and bigger. Clark gave one of his signature almost-laughs. "And that came from the Morgensens'. They've got this competition-they do it every Fourth of July and New Years' Eve-to see who can have the most, the biggest, the loudest fireworks in all of Smallville."

"How long has this tradition been going on?" Lois asked, amused.

"Ever since I can remember." Another firework from the Kelseys' lit up in the sky with a myriad of colors. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Lois watched him, fascinated. Here was the most powerful man in the world, standing in his mother's yard marveling over the glory of fireworks. He was like a child. He knew how to see the loveliness in the small things.

Something she'd never learned to do, really.

"Yes, it's beautiful," she said.

He looked down at her and smiled. "Not as beautiful as you were tonight."

She blushed. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I love you, Lois Lane."

She looked away quickly, too overcome to bear his gaze anymore. He suddenly cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head back, and before she could say a word he was kissing her just like he'd done among the smoldering ruins of Metropolis. When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse with emotion.

"_I love you._"

She tried to say something. "Clark-"

"No, just hear me out." He pressed his hands firm against her head, forcing her to look at him and listen. "You were the first person since my dad died who believed I could do great things with my gifts. You taught me how to laugh again. You've encouraged me to look beyond all the mess and wreckage of last year. If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what I would've done."

_No, I couldn't have possibly done all that-you're giving me way too much credit-you don't know all the ways you've changed me, too_. That was what she wanted to say, but her voice had clogged in her throat.

"You're the most important person in my life," he whispered. Another firework went off and in the sudden light she could see his eyes glistening suspiciously. "Don't ever leave me."

Lois forced herself to take a deep breath. She reached up and pulled his hands from her face, freeing herself to lean forward and put her head against his chest, wrap her arms around him. He kissed the very top of her head and she closed her eyes in sheer contentment.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I won't ever leave you. I love you too much to do that."

* * *

The next morning they were all up bright and early, for Superman was needed. Martha made breakfast and afterward he put on the suit. Lois helped him fasten the cape to his shoulders, the first time she'd done such a thing. He kissed his mother and murmured something in her ear about coming home as soon as he could.

Then he pulled Lois up against him and kissed her right there in front of Martha. Lois didn't care. He rested his forehead against hers and smiled gently down at her.

"I love you."

"Love you, too. Stay safe and give those people a helping hand . . . show us all you've got our back."

He laughed softly. "I will. See you soon."

He kissed them both one more time and then made his way onto the front porch. The two women followed and watched, waving, until he'd disappeared from sight in the cloudless summer sky.

Then Martha reached over and rubbed Lois' shoulders with an understanding smile, and they returned to the house together.

* * *

**Now I know that was mostly fluff and sweetness but it made me as happy as a little fangirl can be! Gosh, I do hope Clark tells Lois he loves her in the next movie or something like. (*sigh*) Anyhooz, consider this chapter the end of Part One; the story is going to take an entirely different direction next update.**


	12. A Storm Is Coming

**PART TWO**

_Fair speech may hide a foul heart._

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Two Towers"_

The icy wind whistled between skyscrapers and office buildings, but Clark paid little attention to it. He only wore a coat for appearance's sake; after all, it would look pretty strange for him to walk around without one in this bitter weather. He'd learned that lesson well after Lois had caught sight of him walking up into that glacier on Ellesmere Island.

He was bicycling his way to the _Planet _office when a crowd gathered in front of the LexCorp Tower, one of the largest skyscrapers in the city, caught his attention. It looked like a bunch of reporters, swarming like bees with their microphones, cameras, and notebooks around a tall, trim young man in a navy-blue trench coat.

Curious, Clark decided to get closer. He'd learned to think and act like a reporter and to keep an eye out for anything that might give him good material-or a chance to help. The man in the midst of the hubbub didn't seem to be in danger, but the reporters had obviously picked up some kind of scent.

As Clark drew closer however, the intrigued look of his face slowly changed. He set his foot on the sidewalk across the street from the crowd and listened, above the confusion and the sounds of Metropolis at work, to the questions asked and answers given.

"Mr. Luthor!" a female reporter asked, raising her voice to an ear-splitting pitch. "What exactly prompted your op-ed in the _Metropolis Times _this morning?"

"Concern for the city's welfare," the tall, slender young businessman replied curtly.

Another reporter practically pushed a microphone up in his face. "Then you don't think the city is safe with Superman around?"

"That was the conclusion of my opinion piece, yes," Lex Luthor replied, coolly pushing the microphone away.

"It's been fifteen months since the Battle of Metropolis and we haven't had any problems with him yet," another reporter countered, with a slightly belligerent tone. "In fact, some have said he's the best thing that happened to the Twin Cities since Batman first appeared in Gotham. What would be your response to that?"

Luthor, who had finally reached a sleek black car parked alongside the curb, pulled the door open. "I'd respond by asking what good these so-called 'superheroes' have ultimately done for the twin cities-or for the world-besides attracting the worst possible characters to wreak havoc on our citizenry. The Batman brought on the Joker and Bane, while this so-called 'Superman' lured in a fanatic general who probably would've never thought twice about Earth otherwise. We don't need vigilantes or aliens dragging us into their personal ego wars. That's my response . . . excuse me."

He got into the car before the journalists could swarm on him again. Clark frowned, pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and pedaled away with his head slightly lowered.

When he got to the bull-pen, he found the writers there gathered around Lois; they, too, were poring over the morning's edition of the _Metropolis Times_, the _Planet_'s biggest rival. Lois sat back in her swivel chair, holding the paper open before her with steely eyes. Steve Lombard caught sight of Clark and snatched up another copy of the rival paper, waving it indignantly.

"Kent, did you see this? The King of Metropolis strikes again!"

Clark cleared his throat, decided not to say anything about what he saw and heard. "What's going on?"

"Luthor's published another op-ed against Superman," Lombard said. "Now that's the third one this month. Talk about having an ax to grind!"

He slammed the newspaper against Clark's chest; Clark deliberately staggered, pretending the impact threw him off balance, and glanced at Lois. She was avoiding his gaze, but her face flamed; whether it was with embarassment at this awkward situation or anger at Luthor, he couldn't tell. He opened the paper to Lex Luthor's article.

It was like a slap in the face. He'd known for a while that Luthor had expressed disapproval of Superman. It had started in earnest over the summer and escalated through the autumn. But this was the first time Clark had ever taken the time to actually read one of Luthor's opinion pieces. The scorn and hatred dripped from every word and made Clark wonder what he'd ever done to offend the man.

"Superman is no trustworthy hero . . . He is either trying to soothe his own conscience over last year's destruction with his assistance to the world, or he is trying to fool the masses into letting him rule the planet . . . his intentions are unlikely to be as pure as too many people assume . . . No one should trust an alien so implicitly . . . Besides that, he may prove be an invigorating challenge, not a deterrent, to the world's worst and most daring villains. Like the mysterious Batman, who has returned to Gotham and resumed his reign of terror, Superman poses a danger to the stability of the city government . . ."

There was more, but Clark didn't want to read any further; he folded the paper again and returned it to Lombard. Lois was watching him closely now. He shrugged, slammed his hands into his pockets.

"Looks like Superman's got his work cut out for him," he said.

"But why does Luthor have such a vendetta against him?" Jenny wailed. "It's horrid! Why would he write such things?"

"Because Luthor feels threatened by Superman, obviously," Perry White boomed. Everyone looked up with a start to see him in the doorway of his office, glowering at them.

"We're all worked up here at the _Planet_ because we, at least, know Superman is a friend," the editor snapped. "Unfortunately, the Powers That Be are obviously determined to turn him into the enemy. I'm not about to sit by and let them brainwash people against him. Jenny, I want you in here so I can dictate a rebuttal against this crap. Lane, see if you can't get an exclusive with Superman, get a response from him."

"You'll take the fall for this kind of reaction, Perry," Lois warned, though Clark noticed her eyes flashed with excitement. "You know how Luthor treats anyone who defies him to his face."

"To hell with the fallout," Perry growled. "Personally, I'd still rather have Superman on my side than Lex Luthor."

And with that he shot Clark one sharp look before turning back into his office with Jenny in tow.

* * *

"No, I won't sit for any interview," Clark muttered that evening in Lois' apartment. He sat on the couch in front of her TV, which blared-like everything else-the story of Lex Luthor's scathing condemnation of Superman. Lois was curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder.

"Better to keep quiet and let the storm blow over," he added. "I'm not about to get down on Luthor's level."

"You don't have to get down on his level," Lois retorted. "Just let him know you won't take that kind of bullying!"

Clark raised an eyebrow. "What would you like me to do, sweetheart? Walk into his house like I walked into Glen Woodburn's flat and give him a good shake?"

Lois smiled mischievously at him. "Now I like that idea. You could tell him, too, to stop encouraging my mother to throw us together."

He laughed, muted the television. "Well, you'll finally have _that_ behind you tomorrow, and you won't ever have to dread a first meeting again."

"I just wish I didn't have to meet him for the first time under _these _circumstances," she said, nestling her head deeper into his shoulder. "Slogging through my mom's New Year's Eve soirée with nothing important to say and nobody pleasant to say it to will only make it more insufferable."

"I guess I could just crash the party in Kryptonian regalia and brighten up the place for you," he teased. She laughed softly and he leaned forward to put his shoes back on. "I need to go, it's getting late."

"Think it's safe?" Lois asked. "You won't be recognized?"

"Not this late at night, and not if I walk and don't take the subway."

He put his coat on, slung his computer back over his shoulder. She stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck.

"What's your price for an interview, Kal-El?" she asked sweetly.

"Hmm." He pretended to deliberate. "No price. I'm not selling an interview."

She turned serious. "If you keep silent, he might call you a coward."

"Well, do _you_ think I'm a coward?" Clark asked.

"No," she whispered. "You're the bravest man I know."

He smiled, kissed her forehead. "And your opinion is still the only one that counts to me."

* * *

Annie Sarkowski's penthouse and the famous personages she'd invited to her evening party were all decked out for New Year's Eve. The atmosphere was cheerful, if a little stilted, and chances were high for certain guests to grow merrier as the evening went on.

Lois stood in a corner, observing them and their shallow conversations with cynical interest. Her hands were just starting to itch for a notebook and a pen so she could scribble down her thoughts when Perry White sidled up to her.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Lois snorted. "What do you think?"

He smiled knowingly, leaned closer. "What about that interview?"

"He won't give it to me," Lois whispered.

He looked surprised. "Not even a statement?"

She shook her head. "He thinks his best strategy is to keep quiet."

"And you figure he knows best, I suppose."

"I do suppose," Lois murmured.

Perry didn't pursue the subject; he might never admit it, but he had a lot of confidence in her judgment. Instead he nodded towards a tall, lean man standing by the window on the opposite side of the room, chatting amiably with several women. Unlike the other merrymakers his tone and bearing were subdued and his hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence.

"You see that?" Perry whispered.

"Yes," Lois whispered back eagerly. "Bruce Wayne. What's the latest on him?"

"Not too much these days. You know he lives in Italy now, working for a private detective firm."

"No, I didn't know that." Lois narrowed her eyes at the handsome man, once one of the wealthiest individuals in the country. "His name and reputation still keep him in these circles, I guess . . . even if he does have a bad track record of running off and letting everyone think he's dead."

"_Twice_," Perry reminded her with a wry chuckle.

Lois folded her arms over her chest, thoughtful. "I'd love to know what _really_ happened to him seven years ago. You don't just leave everyone believing you fell into terrorist hands and let them carry out your last will and testament for no reason, especially when you've got a name like 'Wayne.' "

"Maybe you should make him your next project," Perry teased.

Lois was about to make a feisty retort when she drew herself up stiffly. "Oh, no. Here comes my mother . . . and look who she has trailing behind her."

Annie, dressed in glittering Christmas red, was approaching with the most recognizable and powerful man in all of Metropolis behind her. She offered Perry a stiff nod and turned to Lois, who discreetly braced herself for this introduction.

"Mr. Luthor, this is my daughter, Lois Lane. Lois, Lex Luthor of LexCorp."

"Pleased to finally meet you, Miss Lane," Luthor said, extending his hand with a charming smile. "I've heard a great deal about you-all good, I promise."

Lois forced a laugh in reply, even if she couldn't say the same thing about him. Besides what she knew about his opinion of Kal-El, not all that went around about Luthor's business tactics-or private life-was pleasant. She lied politely enough, though: "Nice to meet you as well, sir."

"I've never been much of a _Daily Planet _enthusiast-" and here he directed a smug nod at the nonplussed Perry "-but I must say, _your_ work is exceptional. I've been driving your mother crazy begging for an introduction."

"Oh, he isn't quite so bad as all that," Annie laughed, darting Lois a sharp look that seemed to say, _Behave yourself. _"Mr. White, perhaps you'd like to come with me and meet our newest councilman, Mr. Ferris."

Perry and Lois shared one quick, knowing glance-but he had no choice, and had to follow Annie looking like a thundercloud hung over his head. To Lois' relief, Luthor gestured towards the refreshment table. Food always made an awkward situation less stifling.

"I heard you just returned from a business trip in Europe," she said politely as she took up a small white plate. "Where were you, exactly?"

"In Belgium, actually," he replied, watching her with a satisfied familiarity and intensity that made her uncomfortable. "It's a beautiful country . . . a sight for sore eyes after being face-to-face with a scarred Metropolis for the past year."

"Well, things _are_ looking much better," she said, adding as nonchalantly as possible, "thanks to so many valiant efforts to bring the city back on her feet."

"Yes, no doubt," Luthor said. He took up a pair of food tongs, avoiding her gaze. "Though I'm sure you're aware of how I feel about the interference of _your_ alien friend."

Ah, so _that's_ what he wanted to talk about. It was challenge she wasn't about to turn down. She tossed her head, put on a saucy smile, and popped an olive in her mouth. Lois Lane knew how to act. Sometimes she thought she deserved an Oscar for it.

"Superman and I worked together against a common enemy," she said lightly. "I was honored to help him. I'm surprised, though, that you wouldn't want to give credit where credit's due. If it weren't for his help with rebuilding, I highly doubt we'd be as far along with recovery as we are."

Luthor lifted his eyes and smiled at her, kept moving down the table. Lois noticed his hands, as he chose different delicacies, were slender and white as a woman's.

"I prefer to put my faith in people who have the interests of our city, country, and world at heart," he said.

"Oh, and you don't think Superman does?" she asked, keeping close to him.

Luthor gave a quiet, condescending laugh. "When you live in the cutthroat world of business politics, Miss Lane, you grow cynical enough to see through surface altruism. Not only that, but to see so much power in the hands of one man . . . why, a third-grade history student can tell you that's a recipe for disaster."

" 'Power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely,' as the old saying goes," Lois said.

He nodded, emphatic. "Exactly."

Lois shrugged. "Well, when you live as _I_ do with an investigative journalist's eye, observing everything and everyone around you, you do tend to see that principle playing out well . . . "

He laughed again. "No doubt."

" . . . especially in the area of business and politics."

The barb went home and Luthor stiffened ever so slightly. Keeping her eyes fixed on him and her voice cool and sweet, Lois went on.

"There are men who use their power wisely, of course-men like, oh, say, Thomas Wayne of Gotham, before he was murdered-and then there are some who use it to manipulate individuals, the press, the government. And they don't like it when somebody like Superman comes along . . . somebody who can't be intimidated by a despot's roar as easily as the rest of us can be."

Lex Luthor now looked very uncomfortable. He drew himself up and looked down his nose at Lois. She raised her eyebrows and made her parting shot in a near-whisper.

"And even if Superman _was_ human, he has far too much honor to surrender to the temptations of power. If there's anyone on this planet who's capable of using his strength wisely, it's him, because he has a little more integrity than most of the people in your cutthroat world. Excuse me."

With that, she gave her hair a little toss and boldly walked away from him and the table.

* * *

In the seclusion of her apartment and well after midnight, Lois changed into her pajamas and pulled out her phone. She sat down in her bed and texted Clark.

_Anybody awake over there?_

He responded right away. _Happy New Year._

_ Happy New Year! Thought you might be out at this hour. _Meaning, she thought he might be making his nightly fly over the city. Regardless of what Luthor feared, it _was_ the time of day when petty criminals, at least, found Superman an adequate deterrent against illegal activity.

_I was out about an hour ago and then came back to work_, he replied.

Lois smiled. _You are such a night owl._

_ Always have been. By the way, you looked great in that dress tonight._

She gave a start. _Excuse me, sir, were you snooping on my mom's party?_

_ I made a flyover. That plum color suits you._

_ Well, thank you. Did you eavesdrop, too?_

_ Yep._

_ Did you hear me tell off L.L.?_

_ Sure did. Don't know why he's so worried about my power when he has twice the influence over this city than I do. _

Lois smothered a yawn._ I think he believes you have more influence than you give yourself credit for. I'll talk to you tomorrow, I'm exhausted. Love you._

_ Love you back_, he replied, and the conversation ended.

Lois swung her legs over the side of the bed and strode across the room to her bathroom. She was about to shut the door behind her when she caught sight of something large and dark flash past her bedroom window.

She froze, startled. Slowly, she moved towards the window and opened it, letting a blast of frigid air into her bedroom. Almost immediately she felt the presence of somebody very close. She pushed her upper body out of the window and peered up at the nearby roof. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of a tall, black form silhouetted against a spray of New Years' fireworks still going off along the downtown riverbank.

It was a freaky sight, made eerier by the fact that such a figure had vanished entirely from the world's eye some seven years ago, only to reappear, without warning, not long after the Battle of Metropolis. Lois wasn't one to cower before it, though. She kept her eyes fixed on it, daring it to come down, encouraging it to speak.

"Miss Lane, I believe," a raspy voice called.

Lois' mouth fell open. The form walked closer towards her and suddenly slipped down a thin black cable trailing down the apartment wall a foot or so away from her window. She hadn't noticed it when she first looked out. Within seconds, he was close enough for her to reach out and touch his black, armored suit if she'd wanted to.

He braced his booted foot against the wall, fixing his keen eyes on her behind a thick black helmet. His eyes, mouth, and chin were all that could be seen of his face. Lois met his gaze steadily.

"You aren't afraid?" he asked, still in that low, raspy voice.

Lois drew a breath. "I was a teenager when the Dark Knight was the most feared and admired man in Gotham and Metropolis. They said no one with a clean conscience had anything to be afraid of. So no . . . I'm not afraid."

She meant it as a sort of challenge; if he _was_ trying to scare her, she'd let him know it wasn't working. She'd stared down an alien tyrant and fought his minions; a guy in a black suit and helmet didn't intimidate her. Not much, anyway.

The Batman almost smiled; at least, one corner of his mouth twitched a little, and the hazel eyes flickered. "I need you to do me a favor."

She frowned. "Why me?"

"Because you know Superman."

She immediately stiffened; he reached out and laid his black-gloved hand on her arm.

"Do you want him safe?" he asked.

"Superman can't be in danger," she whispered. "He's invincible."

"Is he?" the Batman asked pointedly. Lois again felt uncomfortable and tried to draw her arm away. He held on firmly and she stopped, glaring at him.

"What do you know?" she demanded.

"That he has enemies. And if he knows what's good for him, he'll let a friend who's more familiar with the Twin Cities give him some advice."

He let go of her arm and reached for the metal belt around his waist. From one of its tiny compartments he produced a thin silver plate, cut and carved to resemble the form of a bat. He held it out to her and she took it, running her fingertip over its edges.

"Turn it over," he said. She obeyed, saw several numbers and letters scratched on the surface. They appeared to be coordinates.

"Give that to him," he said, "and tell him to meet me in the cave at midnight tomorrow night. You come along."

Lois' mouth fell open. "_Me?_"

"My advice concerns you, too," the Batman said.

A sound behind her made her jump. She whirled, but realized to her relief that the hangar on which her party dress hung had simply fallen off her bed. When she turned back to the window, the Batman was gone and so was his cable.

Lois drew a long, shaky breath and closed her fingers over the tiny metal bat. If he hadn't given it to her, she might've suspected she dreamed the whole encounter.


	13. Unexpected Allies

Snow was falling the next evening when Clark crept into Lois' apartment. She was already in her coat, hat, and mittens, looking so similar to the Lois Lane of Ellesmere Island that it gave him deja vu.

He went into the bathroom and removed his everyday clothes, revealing the shimmering steel-blue suit underneath; Lois tossed his clothes into her closet and helped him fasten the cape to his shoulders. All this was done quickly and in tense silence. There was no time to waste; they had an appointment with the Batman.

At her back door, the one that opened into the alley behind the apartment, she reached into her coat pocket and held out something small and silver in her gloved hand.

"There you go," she whispered. "The coordinate numbers are scratched on the back, see? I already put them into the GPS."

"Great." He opened the door and peered up and down the alley. All was dark and quiet. "Are your ready?"

Lois raised her eyebrows at him. "Are you?"

He hesitated; trust her to point out his lingering uneasiness. "You're sure we can trust this man?"

She pressed her lips together and nodded vigorously. "Everyone but the mob and the Gotham police department trusted the Batman."

"In other words, the people trusted him, but not necessarily the government."

"Right," Lois whispered. "He's good. Not as good as _you_, of course-but I trust him."

"Well, that's good enough for me," Clark said, scooping her up into his arms. "Hold on tight."

Flight, of course, was the safest and quickest way to get to their mysterious destination. His only concern-for her, not for himself-was the weather. It was icy cold, and this high above the city the temperature plummeted. Lois started to shiver.

"So tell me about this Batman," Clark said, trying to keep her mind off the cold.

"What do you already know?"

"Not much. I was trekking my way north while he was having all his adventures, so I didn't get all the details."

Lois unwound her arms from his neck, confident in her own security, and hugged herself. "He started fighting the Gotham Mafia about fifteen years ago, but when Gotham's DA turned bad-"

"What do you mean, turned bad?"

"He went insane. There was a loony terrorist wreaking havoc on the city at the time, and the DA was almost burned to death. It made him snap. Anyway, he ended up getting killed, but because he'd gone on a rampage and even tried to kill the police commissioner's family, there was a danger that all the good things he'd accomplished before going mad would be undone."

A spray of sleet hit them; Lois ducked her head, but Clark went on, unfazed. When the sleet dissipated and he could see Gotham sprawling beneath them, he asked, "Then what?"

Lois sighed. "The Batman took the fall for the DA's crimes. Told everyone that he'd killed the DA and he'd committed all his crimes. Apparently, he and the police commissioner-who was in on it-thought it was the best way to protect Gotham."

Clark frowned, shook his head. "They should've told the truth."

"Even if it threw Gotham into total chaos?" she asked softly.

"Yes. Better to let the truth stand on its own two feet than to kick it down. Lying like that, no matter your intentions, will only come back to bite you in the end."

Lois pulled her scarf up above her mouth. "Well, you got that right, because it did come back to bite them. To make a long story short, the Batman ended up becoming a hero all over again seven years ago, but everyone thought he died when he carried an atom bomb into the ocean-"

"Wait, by himself?" Clark asked, startled. "Is he . . . is he like me?"

"Oh no, no," Lois said, shaking her head. "No, the bomb was aboard his plane or hovercraft or whatever it was. But he reappeared not long after the Battle of Metropolis. People started reporting they'd seen him or his calling card-the metal bat, like he gave me last night. It's not an imposter, either. People who knew him a long time ago say it's the same man."

"So he and I came out of the woodwork about the same time," Clark mused aloud.

"Yes, but _you_ didn't come back from the dead," Lois said, nestling her head against his chest. "Don't ever pull a trick like that on me. If you ever fake your own death, let me know you're alive and well."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll smack you across the face when you reappear." She fumbled with her phone. "We're almost there. Look . . . you'd better start heading down."

He did so, looking around at the landscape below. "What's that down there?"

"Oh, that used to be Wayne Manor. It's a boys' home now."

"Well, those coordinates are leading right to a point on that property."

He made towards a forest at the back of the beautiful, well-tended estate far from the huge, well-lit house. As soon as his feet hit the snow-covered ground, he set Lois down and looked around, listening intently.

"Here, take the phone," Lois whispered, giving it to him. "Lead on."

Hand-in-hand they ventured forward, the snow crunching beneath their feet. The clouds broke and the moon gleamed down, casting a silvery light on the trees, the slender woman, and the tall Kryptonian with the voluminous red cape. When they came to a stream, however, supplied by a thundering waterfall, they halted in confusion. Clark looked at the GPS and swept his gaze around the area.

"The coordinates lead right here," he said. "Are you sure you put in the right numbers?"

She fished the tiny bat out of her pocket and compared the numbers on its back to the ones in her phone. "Yes, I got them right. We must be missing something . . ."

Clark scowled, thinking hard. He stepped a little further down the bank, leading her along, then stopped so fast she bumped into him.

"Look," he whispered.

"What?" she whispered back, narrowing her eyes.

"There's an opening behind that waterfall."

Lois peered hard. Clark grabbed her shoulders and drew her forward, pointing. "See it?"

"I see it," she said, amazed. "Let's go."

"Hold it-you'll get wet," he said, concerned. "It won't bother me, but if you get drenched-"

Lois shot him an incredulous look. "You're talking to the girl who followed you all the way to your Kryptonian ship in subzero temperatures. You know I'm tough."

"I know, and I love you for it," he replied. She smirked at him, then darted forward and started picking her way over small rocks peeking out of the rushing water. Clark shook his head ruefully; he hovered across the stream, caught her, and carried her the rest of the way, even through the curtain of water. The icy water was refreshing to him, but he heard Lois draw in a sharp, painful breath. He set her down on the other side in the damp entrance of what sounded, from the echoes, like a huge cave.

"I'm all right, I'm all right," Lois said, waving off his concerns. "My face and legs got a little wet, that's all. Look at you-you're the one who's drenched!"

"I'll dry fast," he said, running a hand through his wet curls. "Where now?"

To his surprise, she pulled a flashlight from her pocket. "When he said the word 'cave' I figured we might need this. Lead on, Smallville."

They hadn't gone far, though, when they reached a blank wall. Clark rested his hand against the cold stone, looking up and around. "Dead end."

"Oh, hardly," a female voice replied just behind them.

Lois whirled; Clark turned more slowly, determined to keep calm, and saw a tall, very slender woman standing before them in a blue turtleneck and black pants. Her dark hair was drawn back in a tight bun and her arms were crossed over her chest; he noticed, too, that her stomach bulged gently with pregnancy. She let out a low laugh at their confusion.

"You're wanting to get further into the cave, Mr. Superman?" she asked flirtatiously. Clark sensed Lois bristle; he gave her a quick warning look and stepped forward.

"The Batman said I was to meet him here at midnight. We followed the coordinates he gave Miss Lane up to this point. You're telling me this isn't a dead end, so I assume you're familiar with this cave?"

"Somewhat," the woman said, with a smile that let him know she was being sarcastic. "Step back a little, if you would."

Clark hesitated, but Lois slipped her hand into his and drew him back. She might not like this woman much, but she clearly trusted her more than Clark did. The woman's smile, directed now at Lois, softened. She approached the wall and laid her hand over the slightest of crevices.

Suddenly the ground beneath their feet shifted. Clark kept his balance, but Lois staggered and clutched his arm. The woman set her feet squarely apart and put her hands on her hips, the picture of unflappable grace as the platform rose several feet until a doorway in the wall above them opened with a scraping sound. The platform stopped with a muffled clanking.

The woman strode past Clark and Lois and through the opening. They followed at a small but cautious distance, their footsteps echoing on the smooth stone floor of this dark, but drier, corridor. A constant animal chirping somewhere in the cave clearly made Lois nervous; she kept very close to Clark, glancing around uneasily.

Their guide turned a corner and they found themselves in another high-ceilinged room. Here was the source of the waterfall; a fast-moving stream ran down the center of the room, and on one side of it stood a large computer terminal. Two men stood behind it, their backs to the newcomers; an old man sat near them, his hands resting upon a polished cane.

"I've brought your guests in," the female guide said, a heavy touch of sarcasm in her voice.

The men at the computer immediately turned and Clark heard Lois gasp. He glanced down at her and saw she'd clapped one hand to her mouth. One of the men-the older and taller of the two-smiled pleasantly and stepped away from the computer. Clark detected a slight limp in his right leg.

"Miss Lane, I believe we've met a couple of times before," the man said, extending his hand to her.

Lois took his hand quickly. "But-but I thought you'd lost your estate, Mr. Wayne!"

He chuckled. "Well, technically I did, but my old friend Mr. Pennyworth is in charge of it now. He lets me drop by now and again."

Clark glanced at the elderly man, who'd now turned and was watching him with clear interest and respect. The old man smiled warmly and nodded when he saw Clark looking in his direction.

"Kal-El," Lois began carefully, protecting his identity even here, "this is-"

"The Batman," Clark interrupted.

Lois' mouth fell open. Wayne's hazel eyes narrowed, but not in an antagonistic expression; he looked intrigued. "How did you know?"

"Well, I don't see anyone in an armored suit, and you appear to be the leader here," Clark said honestly. "I also gave you a once-over and you're covered in scars. You have an artificial knee-just put in-and your body frame matches that of the few pictures I've seen of the Batman."

Wayne crossed his arms over his chest. "Anything else?"

Clark looked around. "This cave is on the old Wayne estate, and it's full of bats-varmints you could've easily driven out if you'd wanted to. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together."

"You mean-" Lois stammered, pointing at Wayne. "You were the one who talked to me last night?"

Wayne bowed slightly at the waist. "I hope I didn't frighten you. I saw you at your mother's party last night and hoped to talk with you there, but Lex Luthor got your attention first and I never had a chance afterward."

Lois reddened. "I wish you'd interrupted that conversation. I would've much rather talked to an adventurer like you than Luthor, even if I didn't know you were Batman."

Wayne chuckled and motioned towards his companions. "This is John Blake, known to the police force and detective world as 'Nightwing.' He took over for me when I left Gotham seven years ago. This is Alfred Pennyworth, and this is my wife, Selina."

The woman who'd led the way here smiled, and this time there was no flirtatious mockery in her face. John Blake, a short, sharp-featured young man, nodded respectfully. Clark started to relax; there was nothing to fear here.

"You might've guessed I didn't call you here to socialize, though," Wayne said quietly. "I've kept an eye on you ever since the Battle of Metropolis. That's why Batman came back to Gotham. Bruce Wayne had been back for a couple of years, of course, but he hadn't intended to don the cape again."

"What changed your mind?" Clark asked.

"He couldn't keep away from adventure if he tried," Selina Wayne said with a sly look in her husband's direction. "He talks big about leading a retired life. Don't believe a word of it."

"Adventure tends to find _me_, not the other way around," Wayne retorted. "In all seriousness, though: I was concerned Superman might not be trustworthy. If he ever threatened the twin cities-or any city, for that matter-I was prepared to stand him down."

"I hope I've proved myself trustworthy since then," Clark said quietly.

Wayne nodded. "You've certainly proved we have the same motive: to protect the innocent and defenseless. Anyone with that kind of mission is a friend in my book."

He uncrossed his arms, motioned for Clark to follow him to the computer. "Part of protecting the innocent, though, involves fighting the tyrants, whether they're corrupt officials and mobsters-or invaders like your General Zod."

"Are you aware of some new threat?" Clark asked. "Is that why you called us here?"

Wayne didn't reply directly; instead he turned to his younger companion. "Blake, you have the file?"

"Right here," Blake answered, handing him a memory drive. Wayne slipped it into the computer, and immediately a catalog of detailed information on Lex Luthor appeared on the screen. Surprised, Clark glanced down at Lois and saw her lift her eyebrows.

"Here's your enemy," Wayne said.

Clark said nothing and instead gave Wayne an incredulous look, as if to ask how a small-built, bald-headed, loud-mouthed billionaire could be much of an enemy. Wayne smirked, guessing his thoughts.

"Now that I'm a lowly has-been Luthor is the wealthiest man in this country. The difference between us is that he has almost every politician and businessman in Metropolis _and_ Gotham in his back pocket. He's also the owner of a good percentage of the buildings damaged during your fight against General Zod."

"If I could've prevented that-" Clark began.

"No use your telling him that," Wayne interrupted. "But I don't think his investment losses are his main reason for belittling you with these scathing opinion pieces. I overheard your conversation with him, Miss Lane. It confirmed what I'd been suspecting about his feud with Superman."

"Which is . . . ?" Clark prodded.

Wayne looked him in the eye. "You're an unpredictable threat to his hold on this city. He can't do much about Batman. I stick to Gotham most of the time and I'm more secretive than you are. You're out in the open where the whole world can see you-and you contrast sharply with the likes of Lex Luthor."

He turned to Lois. "You work for the one newspaper that doesn't go hand and foot before Luthor, right?"

Lois nodded. "The_ Planet _is the only paper in Metropolis that's not owned by LexCorp."

"What do you know about him, then?"

"That not all of his business deals are on the up-and-up," she offered. "Or at least, that's what most people suspect. There've been concerns in the past that his profits don't all come from investments in the city."

"You're talking illegal imports and exports, right?" Wayne prodded.

Lois nodded. "But no one can prove it. And when you have that kind of money, you can buy anyone off-even federal investigators."

"So in a way, Metropolis is as enslaved as Gotham used to be by the mob," Wayne said with a disgusted shake of his head. "But now Metropolis, like Gotham, also has one man who could stand up against the injustice . . ."

"And Luthor knows it," Lois finished, the comprehension flooding into her face. "He remembers what happened in Gotham the last time a mysterious hero popped up out of nowhere!"

"Which is why he'll do everything he can to stop another hero on his home turf," John Blake said. "I still have friends in the detective world who I rely on for the trickiest cases. We've kept an eye on Luthor ever since we found out he was building an official LexCorp lab down by the river, disguised as a shipping center. Then last week we found out he's received permission from the military to start researching the remains of the alien ship that crashed in Metropolis."

"The Fortress of Solitude," Clark said, stunned."They had it dismantled while I was looking for survivors. I never found out what happened to it."

Blake scratched the back of his head with a worried look. "Well, Luthor just got his hands on it. Why, I don't know. It just seems odd for him to be researching a dismantled spacecraft at the same time that he's upped his criticsm of you in the Metropolis press."

Clark pressed his lips together, deep in thought, and leaned against the terminal. He scanned the information, marveling at its detail. Everything he'd need to know about Lex Luthor and his connections was contained right here.

"I need this file," he said, straightening again. "If I'm going to keep an eye on this 'research project,' I'll need to know everything I can about it _and_ Luthor."

"Take it with you, then," Wayne said, removing the memory drive from the computer. "But be careful. Don't let anyone, least of all Luthor, know you're paying any attention to him. He may be young, but he's learned to be ruthless. You wouldn't want him to strike at your friends to warn you off the scent."

As he spoke, he glanced meaningfully at Lois. Clark felt a cold chill run through him, but she threw her head back.

"I'm not afraid of Luthor," she said, defiant.

"Whether or not you're afraid is beside the point," Selina suddenly replied, approaching with slow, cat-like movements. "The question is, are you sharp enough to stay vigilant and never take a reckless step? Make one wrong move and you'll find yourself _and_ Superman in the hangman's noose."

Clark and Lois looked uneasily at each other.

"You're his eyes and ears," Selina said, still addressing Lois but nodding with her dark head in Clark's direction. "You're an investigative reporter. Make the most of your profession for his sake."

Lois pressed her lips together and met Selina's steely gaze with a feisty, determined glare of her own. A plan was obviously forming in her mind.

* * *

Back at the apartment, Lois pulled on her most comfortable and unfashionable sweats. She was too cold and too tired to care about being cute or stylish, even for Clark.

While she dressed, though, her head was full of the adventure she'd just experienced, the plan she was forming, and the newest secret she now guarded. Bruce Wayne obviously trusted her with it; he wouldn't have shared it with her otherwise.

_I guess he figures anyone who can keep Superman's secret can keep his, too_, she thought. But she couldn't help wondering, too, how Wayne-Batman-had escaped that atomic explosion years ago, or where he'd married that woman, or how they'd kept themselves concealed for so long.

Next time-if they allowed her a 'next time'-she'd be braver and more inquisitive, but she wouldn't break Bruce Wayne's story for the world anymore than she'd betray Clark Kent. She might be insanely curious, but she also abhorred the idea of betraying a trust.

Clark was in the kitchen, back in his everyday clothes and putting the memory drive into her laptop, when she came downstairs. She put her arms around his neck and set her chin on his shoulder. Clark leaned forward, following the words on the screen with his finger.

"So I'm no longer fighting brutal invaders," he muttered. "I'm up against cunning politicians instead."

Lois shrugged. "I'd venture to say the invaders only come once in a lifetime. It's the cunning politicians who are more likely to give consistent trouble."

"This will be completely different from fighting Zod and Faora."

"Thankfully it should be a lot less noisy," Lois said dryly.

Clark gave a rueful chuckle. "I'm not cut out for it."

"Yes you are-especially if you have an investigative journalist on your team."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Do I?"

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Forever and always."

He took one of her hands and squeezed it. "Selina Wayne gave you some kind of idea. I could tell looking at you that you were coming up with something clever."

Lois gave him an arch look. "Maybe."

"You're not going to tell me?"

"If I did, you might order me never to carry it out."

At that, he whirled in his seat. "Wait . . . what are you going to do, Lois?"

She'd meant to keep her own counsel, but that look of alarm in his blue eyes made her think twice. Before she could assure him of her intentions, he jumped out of the chair and took her by the shoulders.

"Don't you dare put yourself in any kind of danger," he said firmly. "And don't compromise yourself. If you trade away your dignity or your safety-"

"Clark, I think I have a better opinion of myself than to do anything like that. I'm not about to become Luthor's mistress to get information and I'm not going to walk into the LexCorp main headquarters with guns blazing, if that's what you're worried about."

Clark relaxed, but only slightly. "But?"

"But I _am_ going to spend more time at my mom's 'events' so I can see him, and I _am _going to flirt a little bit-and _you_ have to swear to me you won't go into a jealous rage over it," she said, jabbing her finger in his chest. "People like Lex Luthor love to have their egos stroked. It loosens their tongue a bit."

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"Didn't I just tell you you have an investigative journalist on your team? I've milked secrets out of plenty of people in my time!" She freed her arms from his grasp and slipped them around his neck. "You haven't even seen me at my finest. You weren't around when I won my Pulitzer, were you?"

"No . . ."

"Well, I only won it because I used a few old-fashioned tricks of espionage and disguise." Her spirits were rising until she was almost giddy with excitement. "I uncovered a whole conspiracy against a secret society right here in Metropolis. Won my Pulitzer at the ripe old age of twenty-six. You should've seen my mother. It was the only time I ever saw her almost burst with pride where I was concerned."

He still looked skeptical. Lois stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down until their foreheads touched.

"You have to trust me," she whispered. "I promise I won't fall in love with the man and I won't do anything stupid or sleazy . . . but you've got to let me help you. Please, Clark."

A faint smile crept into his face. "You are the gutsiest person I've ever known."

She shrugged, smiled back. "I've gotta be, if I'm going to keep up with you."


	14. Threatened

**Hello, everybody! This update is coming a bit late thanks to a very busy schedule, and I'm afraid it'll be the _only _update this week. That crazy thing called Real L****ife has been calling my name loudly; I haven't even had a chance to write for the past three days. My poor trapped muse! **

**Two long chapters last week should've made up for this one short offering, though (*wink*). **

* * *

_I grant him bloody,_

_Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, _

_Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin _

_That has a name._

_-Shakespeare, "Macbeth"_

It was soon clear that nothing definite could be done about Luthor's "research," at least for now. Going through the file Bruce Wayne gave him, Clark was able to find out when and how Luthor got a hold of the spaceship's ruins. An incognito stroll past a certain LexCorp warehouse on the other side of town even told him where the specimens were kept.

The only other person who knew about his findings was Wayne himself. Clark figured Wayne would be the best ally he'd gained since Perry White learned his true identity.

Still, they couldn't do anything about what they knew. The idea of untrustworthy men going over the remnants of Krypton was unnerving, but Clark's respect for private property prevented him from breaking into the warehouse and smashing whatever Luthor's scientists were studying, no matter how much Bruce Wayne or Lois wanted him to do it.

He still didn't know if it even concerned him. For all he knew, they could be harvesting a new bioengineered material from the remains, to use for good purposes here on Earth. Still, he found himself very thankful that he'd gotten rid of Zod's body after the battle.

Lois, thanks to her more frequent outings with her mother, reported the young billionaire was definitely still interested in her, but _not_ in talking about Superman. That was a disappointment. Clark needed to know how much Luthor knew about him and Krypton, even if he still didn't like Lois' methods of charming the egotistical businessman.

* * *

An unfortunate incident took place in a few weeks later that threw their "investigation" into total confusion.

It was an ordinary work day-ordinary except for the fact that Perry had asked her to report on a LexCorp press conference. Luthor was buying out a steel manufacturing firm and the news had made serious headlines. The press conference would simply feature Lex Luthor and the former owner of the bought-out firm giving further details about the deal.

Lois knew there'd be no chance for her to actually speak with him, but she figured it wouldn't hurt for him to see her face. He _did_ still seem interested in her, though why, after she'd smacked him down at her mom's New Year's party, she wasn't really sure.

_Just my great good luck, I guess. _

The press conference was being held in the huge LexCorp headquarters a couple of blocks from the _Daily Planet _office; Lois took her place within the press pool and got to work with her camera and her notebook. She took the moment to study Lex Luthor as he gave his part of the conference. He was certainly a calm, cool-headed professional when he needed to be.

She was raising her Nikon when a sudden popping, cracking sound exploded behind her. Lois whirled but could see nothing but panicked individuals ducking for cover; the man beside her, a stranger, grabbed her arm and jerked her to the floor.

"Everybody run!" someone shouted; maybe it was Luthor, but Lois didn't bother to look for him now. She leaped to her feet with the rest of the journalists and dashed for the nearest exit, recognizing the roar of an automatic rifle as ceiling lights exploded in showers of glass. Both exits were clogged with people trying to escape the unseen shooter.

Clutching her camera, she finally staggered into the hallway outside the conference room with nearly a dozen other breathless men and women. She grabbed a slim young man who stumbled against her, his hand clutching his side; blood trickled through his fingers.

"It's okay, it's okay," she gasped, trying to hold him up. She glanced at the frightened people around her. "We've got to get out of the building-now-and somebody with a phone, call the police-"

"Look out!" one of the women shrieked. Lois jerked her head up and saw a man at the other end of the hallway. His form was silhouetted against the light behind him and he held a huge machine gun.

"Go, go, go!" she shouted, all but shoving her injured companion into a stronger, taller man's arms. She gave a start as she made eye contact with Lex Luthor. He was white as the collar of his shirt.

Before either of them could speak the shooter opened fire. The fugitives took off. One of the reporters crashed to the floor without a cry; a woman in high heels just behind Lois screamed and held her shoulder. Lois jerked her through a fire exit and into the bright afternoon sun . . .

But as soon as Lois gasped in relief at the sight of the alley between the skyscraper and itsneighbor, she felt a strong hand clamp down on her shoulder and jerk her backwards. Her companions cried out in horror as a heavy arm locked around her neck. A pistol jammed against her temple. Lex Luthor took a step forward, fear mingling with anger in his sharp features.

"Stand back, or I'll shoot," Lois' captor growled.

Luthor froze. The man who'd pursued them through the hallway leaped out of the building and tackled him. Lois dared not make any move that might be construed as resistance. Two more men, hooded and masked like Luthor's captor, appeared and pointed their guns at the terrified journalists.

"Luthor is the one we want," Lois' captor, obviously the leader, snapped in a heavy accent.

"Take him to the car. If he makes one wrong move we'll shoot her"-and here he jabbed the pistol deeper into Lois' head until she let out a cry of pain.

"Don't hurt her, she hasn't done anything wrong," Luthor said calmly.

"Shut up," the man snarled. "Get him moving, and keep-"

Before he could finish, the hand that held the pistol to Lois' head was jerked back. The gun went off, the bullet shattering one of the windows above. The man's arm tightened to a stranglehold on her neck, but only for a second as that, too, was wrenched away from her and her captor gave a grunt of pain. Lois fell forward on her knees and looked over her shoulder to see Kal-El drag the man up by the collar and fling him several yards away into the getaway car parked further down the alley. Luthor's captor flung the businessman to the ground and raised his automatic.

"Look out!" Lois screamed. Clark whirled; the bullets hit him in the chest and ricocheted off the skyscraper; Lois covered her head and heard the journalists screaming. His cape brushed against her as he slammed into the shooter, snatching up the rifle and breaking it over his knee.

"Let's see how brave you are without a gun!" Clark roared, jerking the man to his feet and tossing him like a rag doll. Without waiting for a response he attacked the last two thugs and knocked their heads together. Both crumpled, unconscious. Clark twisted the ends of both guns together and tossed them at the hoodlums' feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked, extending his hand to Luthor.

"I'm fine," Luthor muttered, getting to his feet by himself. Blood trickled from his lip. Clark drew his hand back and hurried instead to Lois. She took his hand and staggered against him, not caring for the moment who saw it.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." She couldn't get anything else out; she was shaking from head to foot. He gently pushed her away from him and gave her a reassuring smile before Luthor approached them, irritated.

"Well?" he snapped. "Are you going to gather up your suspects, or just leave them free to walk off?"

Clark said nothing, merely giving Luthor a patient, somewhat indulgent look before he stepped towards Lois' captor and jerked the groggy man to his feet. Lois brought a trembling hand to her face, trying to push her disheveled hair from her forehead. Luthor stepped closer.

"Not the first time he's saved your life, I believe," he sneered.

"But the first time he's saved _yours_," Lois snapped, too shaken to keep her cool with him.

Luthor glared daggers at her before turning to the traumatized reporters huddled behind them. Lois decided to follow Clark, knowing even as she did that it was a bad idea . . . but really, the damage was already done. Kal-El had saved Lex Luthor, yes, but he'd also saved Lois Lane, and in full view of people capable of shotgunning the story all over the city.

So much for successfully keeping their friendship out of the public eye for so long.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the shooting at the LexCorp headquarters. Blame had been laid on a group of foreign rabble-rousers who'd planned on taking Luthor hostage in the hopes of a huge ransom.

Interest in Superman and Lois Lane, however, had the power of eclipsing even something as horrific as a shooting and a high-profile kidnapping. Lois felt like she'd been approached by every nosy reporter in town. Everyone wanted to know what it was like being rescued by Superman _again_. Clark stayed far away from the office and her apartment. She hadn't seen him in several days and felt antsy without him.

A visit to her mother's favorite theater was her first leisure outing since the shooting, but she accepted Annie's invitation only because her mother mentioned-pointedly-that Luthor would be there. Lois wasn't sure if he'd have anything to do with her now, but she figured it was worth a try.

From where she sat in Annie's box she could see him in the opposite one, wearing a flawless tuxedo and flirting-quietly-with a gorgeous European woman at his side. The woman seemed to be enjoying it, but Lois noticed he kept glancing in _her_ direction. She gave him what she hoped was a gracious nod before focusing on the prima donna's ear-splitting aria.

At the intermission, someone knocked on the box door. Annie, dressed to the nines and clearly having the time of her life, called, "Come in!" When Lois turned to see who it was, she wasn't at all surprised to find herself face to face with Luthor.

"Ms. Sarkowski," he said, bowing smoothly to her mother. "A pleasure to see you here . . . are you enjoying the opera?"

"It's _delightful_," Annie said, fanning herself with her program. "Who is your companion?"

Luthor smile and lowered his voice. "A French air-head whose father is about to make an investment deal with Yours Truly. I only took her out of politeness. How do you think I'm managing it, Miss Lane?"

Lois smirked. "Your date seems to be having a good time."

"It would be more pleasant with someone of higher intelligence," he replied.

"Perhaps you might invite the mademoiselle to sit with me for the second act?" Annie asked slyly. "I do know enough French, after all, to get me through a conversation."

"It would be worth a try, wouldn't it?" he said with a knowing laugh. "What do you think, Miss Lane?"

Lois forced herself to shrug and put on a demure smile. He needed no further encouragement and left to make the appropriate suggestions to his date. Lois took a deep breath, trying to hide her surprise at this turn of events. Annie leaned closer to her.

"It's good to see you using your head with him," she whispered. "He's not one to throw away lightly."

"Even considering his reputation with the fairer sex?" Lois whispered back.

"Oh, heavens, you _are _cynical," Annie snapped.

Luthor returned with his date in tow; the French woman greeted Annie with a warmth that made Lois think she might actually be a pleasant person. She, however, had to carry out her strategy, and went with her new companion to his box. She sat down and crossed her legs, fixing her eyes on the elaborate stage and not on him as he sat down beside her.

"I'm glad to see you're still willing to associate with me," he said, leaning forward in an attempt to catch her eye. "You know, you aren't anything like I was told."

Lois gave him a coy smile. "Really? What have you heard?"

"That you're the toughest reporter in the business. You're not the romantic type. You have no qualms about telling someone what you think of them. I've learned from first-hand experience that _that _part, at least, is completely true."

She tossed her head with a flirtatious laugh. "I've never been one to suffer fools lightly."

"No indeed," Luthor said, still looking hard at her as he leaned forward on his knees. "I think you're a woman of great sense."

Lois smiled as the lights dimmed and the curtains went up again. "Thank you."

"And I don't think even you are one to be dazzled long by Olypmian good looks or a pretty red cape," Luthor added. "You've seen too much of the world to put so much faith in even the best intentions. Which is why I have a proposition to make . . . "

Lois bit the corner of her lip. If they kept talking like this, they'd attract attention and a chorus of shushing-but Luthor clearly wanted to talk about Superman and she wasn't about to waste the opportunity. She crooked her finger at him and stood; he followed her out of the box and into the narrow corridor, shutting the door behind him.

"All right," she whispered smoothly. "The proposition . . . what do you want?"

"Your help," he whispered back.

"Which means . . . ?"

"I want your full account of what happened during the Battle of Metropolis."

Lois was genuinely surprised. "I wrote volumes about it during the three or four months after the battle. Everything anyone would need to know is probably there."

"No no," he said with a knowing smile. "I want the _full _account-and I'll pay handsomely for it."

He lifted a wallet from his breast pocket and held it out to her. She stared contemptuously at it, then back at him.

"I don't want your money," she said. "And really, I have no idea what you're talking about. What could you possibly want to know that I didn't already write about?"

Luthor leaned his arm against the wall behind her head. "Your mother's told me things . . ."

"What kind of things?" she demanded, sharper than she intended.

He smiled; it wasn't a pleasant expression, thanks to a new hardening in his grey eyes. "She told me that, not long after the battle, you told her some things you left out of your stories. Things like a certain episode on General Zod's ship. Something about Superman weakening in an environment he couldn't adapt to . . ."

Lois felt sick to her stomach.

"Your mother said the man was completely incapacitated, according to you. Vomiting blood, finally passing out cold. She didn't say what exactly it was that caused such a reaction, though, or why he regained his strength. Interesting."

"Why is that any of your concern?" she snapped.

"Because I need Superman to know that he has no power in this city-or in this world, for that matter," Luthor retorted, grabbing her arm. "He's dangerous the way he is, uncontrollable, unlimited. And these saccharine ideals of truth and justice and _hope_-" he spat the word out "-they'll turn the heads of the masses until _they_ can't be controlled."

"Let go of me!"

But Luthor didn't let go; he kept his hand firmly locked on her arm and pushed her up against the wall. Her heart was in her throat and she forced herself to look him in the eye, ready to fight.

"You know who controls this city, Miss Lane," he hissed. "An alien Boy Scout in a red cape won't change that. In fact, you can warn him that the day's coming fast when he'll get down on his knees in front of me like he did before Zod and beg for mercy."

Infuriated, Lois fought his grip, and after a few seconds of impassioned writhing broke free. She tossed her hair, glaring murderously at him. Luthor tilted his head back, contemptuous.

"I warn you, I'll keep up the pressure. You _will_ give me the whole story, like a good reporter, even if it takes you a few months to come to your senses. Don't worry, I can be very patient."

"I'll tell _him_," Lois threatened. "And then whatever you're planning will go the way of Zod's world engine."

"You won't breathe a word," he whispered. "If you set him on me, it'll just set off a domino effect that not even he can stop. Don't try it, Miss Lane . . . not if you want to watch those closest to you suffer the consequences."

Lois' blood ran cold at the eery, probably unintentional echo of Zod's transmission.

"If you know what's good for Perry White, your mother, or this Midwest stringer Annie says you've been seeing, you'll keep quiet." Luthor smirked. "An age-old trick, hiding the real affair with a fake boyfriend . . . very clever. Just take care I don't blow your cover."

_Oh no, no . . . if he takes one long look at Clark . . . _

Lois hardly remembered Luthor leading her back into the box. She sat down heavily, glad the theater was dark. She had a hunch she was pale and that she had no control anymore over her facial expressions.

* * *

**Let's just say I've spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to tie what happened to Clark aboard Zod's ship into future threats from Lex Luthor against him. I've also spent an outrageous amount of time formulating my own theory about "Kryptonite"-which, in the movie, wasn't really "Kryptonite" in the original comic book way, right? I mean, it seemed more complicated: it was the environment aboard Zod's ship that weakened Clark. Not a rock or a shard or what have you. But why doesn't Clark's suit bother him if it's from Krypton-and why didn't the scout ship bother him? **

**I have my own theories about all this and will develop them in future chapters, but in all seriousness, if anyone has an opinion, I'd love to hear it!****  
**


	15. Worth It

_Time stands still, b__eauty in all she is_

_I will be brave, __I will not let anything take away_

_What's standing in front of me_

_Every breath, e__very hour has come to this_

_-Christina Perri, "A Thousand Years"_

The next morning found Clark with his laptop at the small table in the middle of his kitchen. He tapped his feet impatiently on the floor, trying to craft a difficult sentence for next week's article, when he heard a knock on his door.

"Coming," he called, closing the laptop and moving to the door. He was surprised to see Lois standing there, her hands buried in her sweater pockets; she was pale, too, and looked like she hadn't slept well last night. She said nothing until he'd closed the door behind her.

"Clark, I have a confession to make," she said.

That was even more startling that her woebegone appearance. "What kind of confession?"

Lois opened her mouth, shut it, looked away. Clark put one hand on her arm and tilted her face back towards him with the other.

"Tell me everything," he said. "What's wrong? Problems with your mother?"

"She's part of it." Lois closed her eyes, concentrating, and without any other introduction took him back a year and a half.

"When I saw my mom for the first time after the battle I was still pretty rattled. All I could think about was the battle and the death toll and my reports . . . and you. I was an absolute mess, looking back on it."

She paused and opened her eyes, but didn't look at him; she stared instead at her hands and started picking at her nails, a nervous habit he first noticed in General Swanwick's interrogation room.

"Remember how Glen Woodburn published that whole article about us?" she asked. "The one right after the battle . . . the one about our 'star-crossed romance?' "

He nodded. "Of course."

"Well, my mom took me to task for it. She demanded to know if you'd really kissed me like the article claimed. And that's when I snapped."

Now Clark frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I told her everything we'd been through together." Lois pushed her hair back with a shaking hand. "I told her how I thought you were dying aboard Zod's ship . . . how you rescued me from that escape pod . . . working together with the baby shuttle . . . all that. I asked her what she expected us to do after all we'd gone through. Oh, and I refused to promise her I'd never have a romance with Superman."

"I appreciate that," he teased gently.

Lois didn't smile. She looked straight at him now and he saw fear in her eyes.

"My mother told Lex Luthor about what happened to you aboard Zod's ship."

Clark immediately stiffened, an instinctive move of defense-not against her, but against the sudden threat. Lois bit her lip, lowered her voice.

"He confronted me at the theater last night. He wanted me to tell him more and I didn't. But he told me to tell you he's going to prove that you don't have any power . . . that he's in control of this city . . . that he'll make you-" She stopped, caught her breath. "He says he'll make you get down on your knees in front of him and beg for mercy. He's got to be using the scout ship ruins to make something that'll hurt you, Clark. That's _got_ to be what he's doing."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "And if you come after him, he'll go after my friends _and_ my mother. He said so."

"You think he's capable of harming them?" Clark demanded.

"Anyone with that kind of power and no principle is capable of anything." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "He mentioned Mom and Perry . . . and my boyfriend from Kansas. Mom told him about _that_, too. So now both your alter egos are on his radar."

Clark suddenly felt sick to his stomach. It was one thing to have Lex Luthor watching Kal-El. But if Luthor took more than a second look . . . if he ever followed the timeline of Clark Kent's work for the _Planet_, if he traced him back to Smallville, if he learned how much an insignificant stringer really meant to a world-famous reporter like Lois Lane . . .

_The whole world might know in a matter of hours._

"I'm sorry," Lois moaned. "I've brought you nothing but trouble since the minute we ran into each other in that glacier . . . "

"Don't start that," he snapped. "I don't blame you for this."

"But if he realizes Clark Kent and Kal-El are one and the same? What then?"

He hesitated, bracing himself for the only response he could imagine. "I'll just have to disappear, like I used to."

As soon as the words were out, Lois' face changed. She'd only been afraid before; now she looked absolutely horrified. Clark turned from her, not wanting to meet her gaze, and moved back to the table.

He didn't have to go too far into his memory-no more than a couple of years-to feel again the constant fear of discovery. He remembered the despair he always felt the moment someone figured out he wasn't normal, that he was a freak. A desperate need to protect himself and his family from the world's cruel scrutiny spurred him to take the necessary steps and vanish from whatever community he'd just settled into.

It hadn't been all that hard to leave those places, though, because he was being drawn north to something that would-hopefully-shed some light on his origins. Now that motivation was gone. He had roots, friends, a job he actually enjoyed. To return to the darkness, and without Lois . . .

_Oh dear God, not that. Anything but that._

He felt Lois' hand on his back, heard her soft voice. "If you're forced into that corner, I'll disappear with you."

"_No_," he said with an effort. "I can't let you do that. I can't drag you all over tarnation for God knows how long-"

"You _can_ and you _will_. I'm not letting you bury yourself in oblivion without me. If you tried, I'd track you down. You know I can do it."

He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes. "You only found me because I _let_ you. Please, Lois, don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Oh, don't be an idiot, Clark!" she snapped.

At that, he opened his eyes and turned them on her in a fierce glare. Lois returned it defiantly. It didn't really surprise him, but it did make him angrier, and the fact that he knew he was being irrationally angry made him angrier still.

"So you'll give up everything here?" he retorted. "Your job? Your influence in this city? You work for the only newspaper that doesn't pay tribute to LexCorp and you're its most respected writer. Not only that, but you're a heroine of Metropolis in your own right. You'd throw that all away for-for what? An _alien_?"

"Has that ever made any difference to me?" she shouted. "Darn it, Clark! The job, the influence, the heroine status . . . I'll throw every bit of it away and with a smile on my face if it means we stay together-and we _are _staying together because _I'm not leaving you!_"

He stared at her, not sure how to respond. Lois gasped, took a step back, plunged both hands into her hair.

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to shout at you, I just . . . I had to say all that."

He looked away; she whirled and rushed out of the kitchen, sinking to a seat on the couch in the next room and covering her face with her hands. Clark leaned his straightened arms against one of the metal chairs around the table and tried to gain control of his thoughts.

_She wants to do it_. _She's the only girl you've ever known who'd give up everything for you. You can either turn her down and convince yourself you're denying yourself for her sake . . . or you can accept the gift she wants to give you. _

He clenched the back of the chair and suddenly realized he'd twisted its back like it was made of Play-Doh. Irritated by his own strength, he shoved the chair hard against the table. Lois lifted her head at the sound. The look in her eyes settled the question once and for all.

_ I'll go back to the shadows if I have to . . . but not without her. I can't. I won't. I couldn't._

He cleared his throat and slammed his hands into his pockets. "If I have to disappear, I don't want to disappear with Lois Lane."

"No?" she asked, the hurt palpable in her voice.

"No," he repeated, looking her in the eye. "I'd much rather walk headlong into the dark with Lois Kent."

She stared at him like she wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. Then her lips parted and she sat up ramrod-straight. "Wait a minute . . . was that a proposal?"

He forced a sheepish grin. "Well, there's nobody I'd rather be hiding out with for the rest of my life."

A brilliant smile of disbelieving joy broke out over her tired face. Before he could say anything else she leaped to her feet and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck so tightly it might've half-strangled an ordinary man. Clark laughed and held her against him, rubbing her back, and when she drew far enough away to look at him he leaned forward and kissed her.

_I'll never lose her . . . not if I can help it._

She wrenched her head free, her face flushed now with happiness and relief. "Did you mean it?"

"Of course I meant it! What more do you need to convince you I meant it?"

She shook her head with shining eyes. "Nothing. Nothing at all . . . "

He laid a hand against her cheek and looked hard at her. "It won't be easy. Even if we can stay here we won't be able to act like a normal couple. If Luthor or your mother or even the people at work found out Lois Lane had married right now-"

"I know, I know, they'd start asking unfortunate questions and it would be all over Metropolis in twenty-four hours," she finished. "But we can make it work, even if it means keeping the secret forever. It'll be worth it."

"_Well_ worth it," he said firmly.

She smiled, then dropped her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He hadn't felt so content since Independence Day.

* * *

When Lois headed to work the next morning, it was with her head held high and her clear blue eyes sweeping fearlessly over Metropolis. She wasn't anything like the pale, grim woman who'd headed to Clark Kent's apartment yesterday, nor the blushing, lovesick girl who left that same place a few hours later. She was still very much lovesick but she hid it well, along with a lingering fear that she was being watched. She felt and looked ready to take on the world. Being head over heels in love did give you a huge boost in courage.

"Good morning!" Jenny called as Lois strode into the bull-pen. "How was your weekend? Ooh, you went to that opera on Saturday night, didn't you? How was it?"

"My weekend was _fantastic_," Lois said, unable to hold back a smile. "The opera-meh. I'm not too keen on all that screeching. Is Perry in?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Yes, and he's in a foul mood. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess."

"Maybe I'll liven him up a bit," Lois said. She left her laptop into her cubicle and gave Perry's closed office door two sharp raps.

"Who is it?" Perry called gruffly.

"Lane speaking!"

"Come in, then."

Lois opened the door and shut it again behind her. Perry was at his computer, typing away at something like his life depended on it; he turned in his swivel chair and removed his glasses.

"What do you know about Lex Luthor suing the _Planet _for libel?" he demanded brusquely.

She froze, stunned. "When did _that_ happen?"

"Just this morning. I got the news from the publishers about thirty minutes ago."

Lois wasn't sure what to say. Perry leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, and eyed her.

"I heard you were at the Opera Hall with him on Saturday night."

"And for good reason," Lois replied, a little defensive. "I've been following an interesting lead."

"What kind of lead?"

Lois thought fast, glanced around. This once, she'd throw Luthor's threats to the wind.

"I have reason to believe Lex Luthor poses a physical threat against Superman," she whispered.

Perry's eyebrows shot up and he let out a scornful laugh. "That _shrimp_? Against Superman? You've got to be kidding me."

"Luthor has his hands on material that could possibly do him serious damage. The problem is, I don't have solid proof-yet-that Luthor's using it for _that_ purpose. I have only bits of evidence and some hints that Luthor gave me himself. I don't dare expose him until . . . until I know we can do something about it."

"Does Superman know about this?" Perry asked.

"Yes," Lois said quickly. "But it's between the three of us. Don't repeat it outside this office, Perry, please."

He sat back, scowling. "Well, your lead's down the toilet if you'd hoped to sweet-talk him into giving you information. Luthor's suing us on account of our rebuttals to his recent op-eds. Your rebuttal and mine are mentioned specifically, so he's got it out for us."

"No surprise," Lois said quietly; she was thinking of Luthor's threat of pressure.

Perry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't even want to know how much he's suing us for. And, of course, with half the papers in the city in his back pocket and money to pull strings in court if he wants to . . ."

"We'll fight the suit on a 'freedom of the press' platform," Lois said. "The _Planet _has been through the wringer before. We can get past this!"

Perry didn't argue, probably preferring to keep his best fighter in high spirits. He leaned his head back. "What did you want to see me for, anyway?"

Lois took a deep breath. "I'd like a Friday off on the second week of March and the Monday following."

Perry pulled out a calendar from his desk and tossed it to her. "Long weekend?"

Lois took the calendar and sat down in the rickety wooden chair he kept in front of his desk. She looked intently at him. "Actually, Perry . . . it'll be my honeymoon."

He sat bolt upright. "You're pulling my leg, Lane."

She smiled, shook her head. "No, I'm not."

Now it was his turn to glance around, cautious. "Is it who I think it is?"

Her face flamed and she nodded again. Perry rubbed his chin.

"You two have maintained a pretty low-key relationship here at the office. No one would ever suspect you've got a thing for each other beyond a light crush. Good job."

"Thanks," Lois murmured.

"On the other hand," he went on, "if Lois Lane marries a tall, dark, handsome stringer who looks like he's been hitting the gym everyday for fifteen years, every reporter from here to Timbuktu will be on your case in hours. Especially after what happened two weeks ago at the LexCorp office. Clark Kent and Lois Lane may be under the radar. Superman and Lois Lane _aren't_."

"I know," she whispered.

"Lex Luthor knows it, too."

"I know he knows it," she said firmly. "Which is why we're _not_ announcing anything. We'll be married in Kansas, at his mom's house-and then we're going to live like nothing's changed."

Perry raised an eyebrow. "You're not moving in with each other?"

Lois was sure she'd turned about the same color as a stop sign. "Umm, yes and no . . . he's keeping his flat, but he'll come by my place in the evenings."

Perry smirked and chuckled, much to her embarrassment. He added, however, in a much more serious tone, "And what about your mother?"

"I wouldn't tell my mother if she offered me all the tea in China," Lois muttered through her teeth. "She's not trustworthy. But you are . . . and _he_ wants me to thank you for keeping our secret."

"Well, give him my compliments." He glanced at his watch, and Perry the Counsellor became Perry the Editor once again. "Get lost, Lane. Make sure you send me your copy for tomorrow's article by one o'clock or your head's gonna roll."

Lois flashed him an arch smile and turned on her heel. "Yes, sir. On my way, sir."

* * *

In the vast cave on the old Wayne estate, Clark told Bruce everything Lois had said about Lex Luthor. Bruce listened in silence while he sharpened the blades on his long black gloves. Clark's voice, the grating of the sharpening block, and the roar of the waterfalls were the only sounds in the cave at this time of day. The bats were asleep. Neither man wore their suits.

"So now we know he definitely wants to harm you," Wayne said as soon as Clark was done. "He couldn't be trying to rebuild that ship, could he?"

"Not in a laboratory," Clark said. "It was too big-and anyway, why would it pose a threat to me? I'm the one who took it down. He's got to be studying the material itself . . . or the technology inside the ship that wasn't damaged in the wreck."

"And you have an allergic reaction to anything from your planet?"

Clark folded his arms over his chest, thinking. "I had a violent reaction to its atmospherics aboard Zod's ship. And I can't destroy Kryptonian armor or metal as easily as I can anything made on Earth, either. It took me a while just to smash a helmet. The armor and metal didn't actually hurt me, though."

"Maybe because you weren't wearing it. If you were wearing it, do you think-?"

"My suit would bother me in that case," Clark argued.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Touché."

"But my suit _had_ been here on Earth for a long time," Clark said quietly. "Same with the old ship. It didn't have Kryptonian air in it anymore. That's where I found the suit, in fact . . . I spent several weeks aboard it with my father."

"Your father?" Wayne demanded, lifting his head in surprise.

Clark smiled wanly. "It was a holographic recording of him . . . not the real thing."

Whether or not Bruce Wayne's analytical mind could accept such a fantastical idea, Clark couldn't tell. Wayne held up his glove with a critical frown and ran his thumb carefully over the edge of the shining blades.

"If all that bothers you is your native planet's air, then Luthor's project _shouldn't_ harm you."

"And you think the solution is that simple?" Clark asked.

Wayne looked hard at him. "I was fooled twice by men who were far smarter than I gave them credit for. One was a master of illusions, the other a lunatic who only wanted to watch the world burn. I paid for not thinking like my enemy. In the second instance, it cost me something very precious."

Clark saw a wave of pain pass over Wayne's features. He had no idea what could've happened to cause such deep regret and sadness, but the words were enough to make him think of Lois and his mother. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Luthor won't waste anymore time than he has to, and then he'll test this weapon against me, whatever it is."

"You ought to take it out now before he gets to that point," Wayne said.

Clark clenched his hands. "I can't do that! I'm different than you, Wayne. You slip through the night unseen and send a message that everyone recognizes in the morning. No one ever has to see you. And even if they're intimidated by you, they aren't petrified because you're a _human_. I'm not, and it makes people afraid. I need to keep this planet's trust, but I'll lose it in a heartbeat if I lay a finger on Luthor before he strikes at me first."

"I'm not asking you to beat Luthor to a pulp, Boy Scout," Bruce snapped. "Even I wouldn't do that. Just take out the weapon, whatever it is-or the whole lab, while you're at it."

"I'm telling you, _I can't. _Luthor is already trying to convince the people of Earth that I'm not the noble knight I want to be. He wants everyone to believe I'm hiding some evil intention to take over the planet, or that I'm a disaster waiting to happen. If I go down there in anger and destroy his property, what kind of message will _that_ leave? I'll either be villified as a bully or a weapon of mass destruction-and I tend to think it would be the latter."

Wayne made no argument to this. Clark sighed, slammed his hands in his pockets, stared at the thundering waterfall up ahead. He felt helpless and didn't like it.

"Selina and I are returning to Italy over the weekend," Wayne said abruptly.

Clark looked at him, surprised. "When are you coming back?"

"After the baby is born." Wayne leaned back, his expression softening. "Selina has a . . . well, a less-than-pleasant past. She's still nervous about people recognizing her here. That's why she keeps to our apartment most of the time, unless she's coming here. She'd be more comfortable having the baby in Italy where no one really knows her."

Clark tried to hide his disappointment; he'd appreciated having an ally. Aloud he said, "For my sake, I'm sorry to hear you're leaving. Lois and I are getting married-secretly-in a few weeks. We would've liked to see you in Smallville."

Wayne chuckled ruefully. "If you want to keep it a secret, then you don't need me attracting any attention to you or your town."

Clark smiled. "I guess you're right . . ."

"You'd better take some steps towards family planning, too, if you want to keep the secret air-tight."

Clark raised an eyebrow, his smile turning wry. "No family until things have settled down. We've talked about that already. Besides, we don't even know if we're . . . capable."

Wayne gave him an incredulous look. "What, you don't think you and Lois can-"

"I'm not worried about _that_," Clark interrupted. "I just don't know if we can . . . I don't know, 'interbreed,' or whatever you want to call it. She's still human. I'm not."

Wayne nodded slowly. He didn't have an answer and Clark didn't expect one. He hadn't come up with any sure answer since he and his dad discussed the possibility years ago, when Clark was still a teenager grappling with his unknown origins. Fathering a child with a human woman might be impossible. He'd accepted that long ago.

"I'll keep in touch with you . . . give you what help I can," Wayne said, holding out his hand. "Call Blake if you need a man with sharp ears and eyes."

Clark grasped his hand firmly. "Take care of yourself-and come back as soon as you can."

Wayne nodded gravely. "I'll be leaving the Twin Cities in your hands. I can't think of anyone more worthy of the responsibility." He hesitated, letting the momentous words sink in, then added with a wry grin and a nudge of Clark's arm, "Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

**I've been very excited about posting this chapter for several weeks, so I hope everybody enjoyed it! Many thanks to eagle219406 for giving me some feedback about Kryptonian atmospherics; it was very helpful. As I'm continuing to write this story and learn more about the Superman canon, I think I've come up with a pretty good idea of a fearsome enemy/challenge for Clark. (Don't freak out, I won't kill him.) But Clark and Lois are getting married so I'm not _completely_ sadistic to my favorite characters ;)**


	16. Come What May

_And there's no mountain too high_  
_No river too wide_  
_Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side_  
_Storm clouds may gather,_  
_And stars may collide_  
_But I love you _  
_Until the end of time_

_-Moulin Rouge, "Come What May"_

Lois snapped her suitcase shut and set it down on the floor. Everything she'd need for her "long weekend" was in there. She made one quick pass through her bedroom, turned off the lights, made sure she'd locked her bedroom window. Then she carefully rolled the suitcase down the stairs.

A taxi was on its way to take her to the airport. Waiting in the kitchen, Lois pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and dialed her mother's number. Just when she was thinking her mother wasn't at home, Annie picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Lois said, peering out the window. "Just wanted to let you know I've gotten an unexpected assignment and I'll be out of town for a few days."

"Oh?" Annie said, distractedly. "Where are you going?"

Lois held her breath. "I'd rather not say right now . . . it's unexpected and Perry wants me to keep it under wraps."

"All right, then." Annie seemed unconcerned, slightly indifferent. "Have a good time."

"And please don't call this phone unless it's an emergency, Mom," Lois added. "Where I'm going, I won't want to be identified."

There was a slight pause. "Are you going somewhere dangerous?"

"No, no," Lois said quickly. She didn't want to ruin her mother's indifference, but she needed to make herself clear, as well. It was a tricky balance. "I'd just rather no one knew who I was while I handle this job."

"I see," Annie said, satisfied. "Well, enjoy yourself. When will you be back?"

"I'll be back at work Tuesday morning. I'll call you then."

As soon as the conversation came to a close and Annie hung up, Lois breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Strange, how she and her mother could be so at odds most of the time, and yet Lois still hated to tell her a lie.

_But I really just told her half-truths_, she thought, trying to console herself as she walked out to the taxi now parked in front of her apartment. _I have to keep this under wraps, I don't want to be identified, I'm not going anywhere dangerous, and I'll be back at work on Tuesday. _

But it had still been a lie that she'd been given an unexpected assignment. The real reason she didn't want her mother calling was because she didn't want Annie to interrupt her precious time alone with Clark. Nor did she want Annie to know where she really was, out of fear that Lex Luthor might find out.

Lois sat down in the back of the taxi and tried to relax. She wouldn't feel secure until she had crossed the threshold of Martha Kent's home.

* * *

Clark set his foot down on the short spring grass and took in a breath of fresh prairie air. The late-afternoon sun bathed the flat landscape, casting long shadows over his mom's pick-up and Gloria Ross' little Corolla parked in front of the farmhouse.

Dusty, standing sentinel on the front porch with the one little pup Martha had decided to keep, catapulted down to greet him. The puppy followed, one ear cocked high but the other still flopping clumsily; he caught the corner of Clark's cape in his teeth as the wind rippled through it.

"Hey, stop that," Clark said, gently pulling the cape free. The little guy was still too mouthy for his own good. The two dogs pranced around him all the way up to the porch, where he scraped his boots on the welcome mat before pulling open the screen door.

As soon as he stepped inside he heard women's voices upstairs, along with a lot of giggling. He raised an eyebrow and set one foot on the stairs.

"Mom?"

A chorus of shocked gasps and cries came from the guest bedroom; Martha threw the door open and glared down at him.

"Don't you dare come up here," she said.

Clark held out his arms, a helpless gesture. "What did I do to earn that kind of greeting?"

"It's bad luck for you to see your fiancée in her wedding dress before the big day." Martha tiptoed forward and shut the door behind her. "And get out of that suit."

"Oh, is it bad luck too?"

Martha's mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. "No, but Juliet is here. I think she can be a secretive flower girl but I'd rather not push the envelope by letting her see you in _that_."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "I'll change."

By the time he'd put away the suit and gotten into a pair of old clothes, he heard the women coming downstairs again. When he ventured out he found his mother, Gloria, little Juliet, Lois, and Ellen with her seven-month-old baby in the kitchen.

"Am I allowed to come in now?" he teased.

Lois smiled at him. "You're all clear. Good to see you."

"How was your flight in?"

"Uneventful. Ellen and Gloria were there at the airport to pick me up, and when I got here Juliet and Martha already had a delicious lunch on the table."

"We've had a delightful time working out girly wedding details that wouldn't interest you in the slightest," Gloria said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.

"Bet I could get Juliet to tell me some secrets," Clark teased.

Immediately the four women looked at Juliet with desperate, pleading expressions. The little girl gave Clark a giddy smile-thus revealing she was missing several teeth-and shook her head.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "I'm not telling you _nothin_'."

"Good girl," Lois said, patting Juliet's head.

Clark nodded his head in her direction. "All right, just tell me this, Juliet: will she look pretty tomorrow?"

Juliet nodded until her pigtails bounced. "Oh yes, very pretty!"

"That's what I thought," Clark said, winking at Lois. She blushed harder and ducked her head.

He soon found it difficult, however, to manuever his way around the whole house, let alone the kitchen. He couldn't even open the fridge without Ellen respectfully but firmly telling him what he could and couldn't eat. Clark looked at his mother in disbelief.

"There are only supposed to be nine people here tomorrow-"

"Nine?" Lois asked, surprised.

Clark cleared his throat. "_Eight_. I meant eight, not counting the Ross baby. Mom, you've got enough food in here to feed an army."

Martha shot him a challenging look. "Well, what do you think I'm going to eat on after you two have gallivanted off for your honeymoon?"

"By the way, where are you going?" Ellen asked, settling her baby on her hip

"Just a couple hours away, to Lawrence," Lois replied.

"That's a big town," Ellen said, then laughed. "Big for us, anyway."

"Well, we wanted someplace where the chances of us being recognized together were almost nonexistent. We need to disappear for a couple of days." And she gave Clark such an excited smile that it made his head go a little wild and he had to look away.

That evening, long after the Ross women had left, he found Lois sitting on the porch steps. It was still chilly at this hour, and her hands were buried in the pockets of a heavy sweater. Clark sat down beside her and followed her gaze to the night sky. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"Remember when you brought me out here to show me the fireworks?" she suddenly asked, her breath making small clouds in the thin, dry air.

He nodded. "We probably wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for that night."

She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thank God you had the wherewithal to tell me how you really felt."

They were quiet for another minute more. She spoke again first, but in a more somber tone.

"I talked to my mother this morning."

Clark looked at her, searchingly. "And?"

"I lied to her. I _hated _it."

He said nothing. She opened her hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know what else to do. I wish I could tell her I'm getting married. It seems cruel to keep that from your own mother."

"It would be all over the world in hours," Clark said gently.

"I know." Lois took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her head with a new determination in her eyes. "She won't call over the weekend. I saw to that. And I'm turning off my phone as soon as we leave here tomorrow afternoon. I don't want anyone tracking me."

"I'll turn mine off, too," he said, hoping to reassure her. "We'll be off the grid for two days . . . just you and me."

She blushed prettily and shot to her feet, taking his hand as she did so. "Come on, farm boy. Let's go for a walk before your mother calls for 'lights-out.' "

* * *

Lois didn't sleep well that night; the butterflies in her stomach kept her awake. When faint dawn finally crept through her window, she sat up in relief. Funny how you could feel so wide-awake when you were excited, even if you'd only had a few hours of sleep.

She went downstairs only once that morning for breakfast. Clark flashed her a grin when he saw her and squeezed her hand as he passed her on his way outside.

"It's going to be a beautiful day," he said, gesturing with his head towards the window. "I'll see you at eleven."

"Okay," she said softly, sure she was looking all lovesick again-and right there in front of Martha, too. The older woman just smiled and shook her head knowingly.

By the time the Ross family got to the farm, Lois was upstairs fighting with her curling iron. Ellen took one look at the impending calamity and snatched the tool out of Lois' impatient hand.

"You sit down in this chair here and let me help you with that," she said, setting Baby Ron on the floor to crawl. "What are you going for? Ringlets?"

"No, just some soft curls."

"Ringlets would be prettier under a veil," Ellen said pointedly.

Lois laughed, threw up her hands. "Fine, work your magic. I'm at your mercy."

The ivory dress had been found by Gloria Ross at the local thrift store the day after Martha told her what was going on. She'd taken a picture of it and sent it to Lois, who immediately deleted the picture for security's sake and sent back her enthusiastic approval. Lois shivered with delight as she stood in front of the mirror, letting Martha button the back.

"I've never worn anything so extravagant," she said, trying not to show how much she liked the feeling of being pretty.

"Well, you're not quite finished yet, so hold still," Martha ordered. She pinned the filmy veil to Lois' copper hair, perfectly arranged in thick, glossy ringlets, and stepped back. Lois turned, the ivory skirt swishing, and smiled at the admiring gazes of her new friends.

"You look like a princess," Juliet said dreamily from where she sat on the bed.

"Why, thank you," Lois said, making her best attempt at a curtsey. Juliet giggled.

Gloria peered out the window. "The menfolk are waiting outside, probably talking sports or hunting or business. And Clark's not interested in any of that. We'd better rescue him."

"Oh, he likes a good ball game," Martha said distractedly, arranging Lois' veil with greater care than was probably necessary. "You girls go on outside, we'll be there in a minute."

Gloria, seeming to understand, ushered her daughter-in-law and grandchildren out. Once they were alone, Lois turned to Martha expectantly.

"I'll be good to him," she whispered. "I promise."

Martha nodded, smiling with her lips pressed tightly together. She suddenly reached up and cupped the younger woman's cheek in her hand. It was the tenderest gesture of affection Lois had ever received from her, and it made her throat tighten.

"I'm sorry your mother can't be here," Martha said quietly.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Lois said, squeezing her hand. "_You're_ here. That's more than an adequate substitute. Are you ready?"

"Yes . . ."

"You look pretty classy yourself," Lois said, smiling brightly.

Martha laughed, rolled her eyes. She'd traded her usual knock-around clothes for a dress that really was quite becoming. She led the way down the stairs, looking cautiously behind her as Lois maneuvered her long skirt down the narrow staircase; in the kitchen she handed Lois the sprig of flowers Juliet had gathered that morning, and together they stepped onto the front porch.

Lois froze on the bottom step. Standing there under the big oak tree with the old tire swing were four men, all in their church clothes: the reverend from church-the one who had given Clark counsel before he gave himself up to Zod-Pete Ross, Clark, and . . .

_Oh my word. It's Perry. _

He grinned at her like the cat that had just eaten a canary-or rather, the editor who had totally surprised his prize-winning author and felt pretty smug about it. Lois' mouth fell open, and then she laughed. That must've been why Clark had messed up last night and said there would be nine people present rather than eight.

Her laugh attracted Clark's attention; he turned, and the amazed look on his face as he took in her appearance made her blush hotly. Martha walked alongside her, a bastion of calm strength, all the way to the tree.

Lois was never able to remember much of the service afterward. She knew she repeated the required words in a quiet but steady voice, and that he stroked her hands with his thumbs the entire time. She knew, too, that she was barely able to get the ring on his finger. She almost dissolved into giggles over it, wrestling it on; he laughed as did everyone else, even the kind-faced, trustworthy reverend.

And then the solemn phrase: "I pronounce you man and wife."

She shuddered at the enormity of the words. Her true identity was no longer contained in the name tag she wore at work. Lois Lane was a name to be used always in public, but deep down she was really Lois Kent. She had a secret identity as much as he did.

At the thought, Lois looked up at Clark and could tell, with that inexplicable intuition she'd always had about him, that he was thinking the same thing.

"There's no veil to lift, so I guess I'm all clear," he teased.

She laughed a little shakily and he gave her a short, restrained kiss. Next thing she knew she was surrounded by the only people in the world who she trusted with this secret. The solemnity of the past few minutes was gone; Lois felt light-headed with sheer happiness.

* * *

"I don't care if this is technically an elopement," Gloria said in a bit of a huff. "You're going to have something to remember the day, even if _I _have to put together a photo album. All right, Pete, take the picture."

"This has got to be the most undignified thing I've ever done," Clark muttered.

Lois giggled and picked up a piece of cake between her fingertips, motioning with her head for him to do the same. "If you complain one more time, Smallville," she whispered, "I'll smear it all over your face."

"Oh, now you think you can threaten me?" he teased. But he submitted to the ridiculous photo anyway, and had to admit the cake tasted pretty good. Juliet was already halfway through her piece.

He had never known such a carefree afternoon. Everyone gathered on the front porch; he and Lois, still dressed in the beautiful ivory gown, sat on the swing. He put his arm around her shoulders and took in the scene . . . Martha, Pete, and Gloria regaling a chortling Perry White with stories about Smallville and notable incidents in Clark and Pete's boyhoods, Juliet playing with Dusty and the pup, Ellen listening to the conversation with her baby on her knee.

_We need a picture of _this, he thought wistfully. _This is what we'll really remember long after that cake is gone. _

And then he couldn't help wondering if he'd ever have a chance like this again to forget the troubles of the world, Lex Luthor's threat, or the escalating fear of discovery. For a few moments-just a few, of course-it would be fine by him if he never put on that Kryptonian suit again. He was just a young man from Kansas who had finally married the girl he loved. It was one blessing of a normal life he never thought would be his to claim.

Eventually the sun started sinking. Juliet fell asleep on her daddy's shoulder and that was the signal for the Ross family to go home with their fair share of the cake. Perry had a flight out of the nearest airport in a few hours. As he made his goodbyes, Lois sprang up from the swing and held out her hands.

"You and Clark are two of the biggest sneaks, you know that?" she asked, mischievously.

Perry grinned. "Hey, I wasn't gonna pass up the chance to see Lois Lane tie the knot."

She laughed. "I'll get you both back for giving me the shock of my life. But seriously, Perry, _thank you_. It was . . . it was good to see an old friend."

To Clark's surprise, the editor, usually so brusque even with Lois, actually hugged her. It was an awkward gesture but Perry clearly meant what it implied: that she meant more to him than just a colleague. When he drove away and Lois turned back to Clark, her eyes looked misty.

He glanced at his watch. "If you want to get into some everyday clothes, we can leave."

"Oh," Lois said, running her hand down the smooth, silky ivory with reluctance. She did like that dress. "Sounds good . . ."

"Unless, of course, you prefer to stay here," Clark added, teasing.

She shot him a playful glare at that, picked up her skirts, and gave them a flirtatious flounce as she whirled and dashed back into the house. His mother, at that same moment, stepped onto the porch from the kitchen and leaned against the wall.

"Have you had a good day?" she asked.

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the back of the swing. "A very good day-and it's going to get better."

She smiled knowingly. She stepped closer and sat down in the seat Lois had vacated; he put both arms around her and pushed lightly against the porch floor, sending the swing into a gentle rock.

"So," she said quietly, "if anything happens-if this Luthor finds out who you are-you'll go into hiding?"

He nodded. "A friend of mine has offered the use of a-well, a cave of his, until we could get out of the country. Lois and Perry think we could get to Poland or some other East European country . . ."

Martha shuddered. "That's a long way away."

"But Lois and I could disappear there. Easy."

"And what about your suit? Your work?"

"I'd still do that whenever and wherever I was needed. But Clark Kent would vanish. I'd have to live under a different name." He looked down at her quickly, realizing the effect such a statement might have on her. "I won't ever forget the name you and Dad gave me, though."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the nearby barn; perhaps she was thinking of the spacecraft once hidden in its cellar, the vehicle that had brought him to her.

"And if we have to disappear," Clark added quietly, "I still want you to come with us. You'll _have _to. The government and the press will be on top of you and won't give you any peace."

"And the farm?" Martha whispered.

"Pete and his dad will take care of the farm."

She drew a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's like . . . it's like when you were a child, when we were always so afraid that they'd take you away from us."

"They won't take me away. They _can't_. But if they found out who I am . . ." He hesitated and frowned, thinking. "Superman, Kal-El, whatever you want to call him . . . it's only half of me. Clark Kent is the other half and equally important. If I'm going to protect you and Lois and everyone here in Smallville, I have to do everything I can to keep the two halves as far apart as possible, at least in the world's eyes. Look what Zod did when he found out who I was here on Earth. He almost destroyed Smallville."

Martha bit her lip; she felt stiff in his embrace.

"If everyone knew my real past, Mom," he whispered, "if everyone knew where I grew up and who I loved the most-they could use it as leverage against me. I can't let that happen. If it did, the best thing for all of us-and Smallville-would be for me to get as far away from here as I could. I couldn't leave without you, though. You'd be in as much danger from men who can't be trusted as you were in Zod's presence."

She was silent, but she did relax a little against him. He could tell his words were penetrating even her stubborn desire to remain on her homestead. At that moment, however, they heard Lois' light step. She appeared in a grey skirt and a shimmering blue blouse; her hair was still in its ginger ringlets.

"I'm ready," she said.

"Good," Clark said, rising from the swing. Martha reached up and hugged him. For a moment she didn't say a word, simply held on with a strength that surprised him. When her voice came, it was in the hoarse whisper of a woman envisioning her child when he was just a baby.

"I love you. Have a good time."

He pushed her back far enough to cup her face in his hands and kiss her forehead, then gently released her and stepped towards Lois. With quiet respect for the scene she'd just witnessed, she held out her hand to him, the one with the slender band on one finger.

* * *

They'd borrowed the pick-up for the weekend. When he turned the key in the hotel parked lot, Clark sat back and let out a long breath. Lois reached over and squeezed his hand, smiling like she was about to have the biggest adventure of her life.

"You ready?" she asked.

"_Very _ready," he said, leaning across to kiss her. She was all flushed and radiant when he drew back again.

"Let's go, Smallville," she said, throwing open her door.

He needed no further encouragement; grabbing their suitcases out of the back of the truck, they walked hand-in-hand into the building. His heart was pounding, and he could hear hers doing the same.

They checked in under false names-Lois' idea-and went upstairs. Neither said much. When they got to their door, he opened it and she moved to enter, but he stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"Don't go in yet," he whispered. She gave him a quizzical look as he pushed both suitcases into the room. Then, without warning her beforehand, he strode back into the hall and scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, laughed softly, slipped her arms around his neck.

"Welcome to your honeymoon, Mrs. Kent," he said with a smile, and carried her over the carpeted threshold.

* * *

**Fluff, but fun fluff ;) I do love weddings. I've brought my favorite OTP a long way from the first chapter. Thanks to the fact that I'm writing ahead of my updates, I've brought them farther still. Let's just say life is getting very interesting very fast for our newlyweds.**

**Having teased you like that, I must now confess that**** due to a hectic schedule I will _not _be able to post a new chapter next week. I'll get back on schedule after next week, though, I promise! **


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